


Tor-Valen

by Savaial



Series: Tor-Valen Series [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Castiel, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, BAMF Castiel, Breastfeeding, Dystopia, I'm not spoiling a story with a million tags, M/M, No Major Character Death!, Omega Dean Winchester, Smart Dean Winchester, This is part of a series., there are more characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-05-03 10:20:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 34
Words: 228,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5286974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savaial/pseuds/Savaial
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean presented as an omega at twelve, and has spent his life in a privately funded omega house.  Now, at twenty-six, he's a known troublemaker.  And, he's the oldest omega at Sonny's.  He needs a suitable alpha, but he doesn't want one.  He has, in fact, fought tooth and nail not to have one.</p><p>Castiel Novak, eldest son of Zachariah and Naomi Novak, maintains the large, ancestral estate, Tor-Valen.  He is far more interested in his bees and providing for his servants than tying himself down with an omega.  But, his parents insist.  To comply, Castiel sends his butler, Meg, to specifically buy Dean.  Because, everyone in town knows Dean Winchester isn't some cowering, conniving omega.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: I am not a Crowley hater. 
> 
> This is a happy ending, fantasy fic (very) loosely based upon Regency Romance. I am using Japanese and Chinese elements for the elegant styles and formality in dress associated with male omega ideals. And, I mean this very loosely as well. I cannot hope to encompass the intricacy of Japanese or Chinese culture in this work. It would take a lifetime, and I'm not worthy.
> 
> Addendum: It has been kindly brought to my attention that what I am writing may be offensive to some of you. Misappropriation of culture. Please do not read this if you are offended by the idea that several different cultures have been mashed together and not left true to their origins. The last thing I want is to upset anyone, and this post-dystopia setting has the potential to disturb.
> 
> Secondary addendum. While this is a complete work, the story isn't finished. It will carry on with another work, called 'Fen-Taven'. I didn't want anyone to get to the end of this first part and want to throw rotten tomatoes at me.

Definitions:

Pannia- Trained to seduce and kill.

Panya- Mated, owned omega.

Hadja- Beloved responsibility.

This is a post, post-apocalyptic Earth. Society got knocked back to the Dark Ages overnight, and humanity has just now climbed back up to a Regency-type setting.

* * *

“I'm not supposed to work with actual, metal-boned fans yet,” Kevin hissed at Dean, batting one aside from the air like it was a pesky insect instead of a weapon capable of slitting flesh. His long, wiry arm, and hard fist, made the deflection easy and natural. “Dean, come on,” he added, drawing up. “I'm not a warrior, or, a pannia. Quit tossing out the armament!”

Dean knew he should feel bad about taking Kevin under his wing to harden him up. The boy was beautiful, destined to a decent, solid household, hopefully. With his looks, Kevin would attract all kinds of people.  Still. That was the whole problem. Kevin was slender, small, and looked an easy mark. Dean would be damned if he let the boy go to his first season without some kind of self protection.

Stooping over to get a basket of fans, Dean sighed. “Kev, I know you're not some bloodthirsty little pannia, but you should pretend for a little while, because your first season is three months away. Do I really need to lecture you on what you're up against?”

Dean brought up a dazzlingly bright fan, and held it before his eyes. “Kevin. You're a wet dream for sweaty rich men. If you don't get the basics down for defending yourself, you're going to end up defiled and pregnant, or in a gutter somewhere. You have to learn how to kill. Nothing less will keep you alive. We don't have rights or status, please recall.”

“I damned well know it,” Kevin spat, bristling. “I have a knife.”

“You kill some rich guy with a knife, and you get executed,” Dean pointed out. “Kill him with a fan, and it's all on him being _weak_.” He threw Kevin a fan, and stood up straight. “This is the weapon you're allowed, the _only_ one,” he reminded. “You have to be an expert with it, on both sides of the problem. If you kill with a fan, you're off the hook. If you don't, you die. I can't get more plain.”

“This is so wrong,” Kevin said, taking up the fan. “My weapon is a thing I'm supposed to use to _entice_ the rich alpha.”

“I don't make the rules,” Dean reminded. “I'm a master of the fan because I don't want some alpha knot in my ass, and, you should listen to me about that.”

Kevin bowed his head a moment, and it was in order to speak to both Dean and the ground. “Sonny's going to kick you out, you know. Financially, he has no other recourse.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean admitted.

“Representation on the grounds!” Someone shouted from the house toward them. “Everyone line up!”

Dean always dreaded hearing those words. He took two fans, the best ones, and slid them inside his kimono. “Well, let's go present ourselves like livestock,” he said to Kevin, leading him toward the house. “Remember what I said about sneezing? You act sick, and no one's gonna want you. I've used that card too many times, but you haven't yet.”

They joined the line and stood quietly, heads down. Dean heard a woman's voice and relaxed slightly. Women, no matter their designation, tended to be less animalistic. Female alphas generally sought beta males, but when looking for an omega they reliably wanted small ones. The small omegas were favored all around.

Sonny and the woman walked up and down their line of twelve twice before Dean heard the woman say, “The one on the end.”

Dean cringed inside.

“You want Dean?” Sonny asked, sounding surprised. “Far be it for me to hinder him getting a good home, Miss Masters, but do you know his reputation?”

“My employer doesn't want a cringing, tiny omega,” Miss Masters said. “I suppose he can be said to have peculiar tastes, but I don't presume to change his mind for him. Have the omega's personal possessions sent to Tor-Valen. I'll take charge of him now. We _must_ be back before the storm hits.”

“Yes, Miss Masters,” Sonny said. “As long as you and your master know what you're buying.”

Dean ground his teeth together. This was okay. If he got off grounds he had a chance of escaping. He regretted leaving Kevin here, but what else could he do? The boy wouldn't sneak away with him later, and had little chance of sneaking away right now.

Sonny took Dean by the arm. “Keep your head down,” he instructed lowly, though Dean fully knew the protocol. “Don't ruin this, Dean. The Novak family is wealthy and influential, and if their son wants you, play it up. Make yourself indispensable, someone he can't do without, and you have a chance at some small amount of happiness.”

He'd heard it all before, and always ended up back here, untouched. Dean saw no reason to start prostrating himself before a knot-head now.

He was led into an enclosed carriage, the door shut and locked from the outside. Miss Masters got in on the other side, and Dean heard her door also getting shut and locked. A whip crack by an unseen coach driver lurched the conveyance onto the perpetually muddy access road that would take them to the main, run-down highway.

“All right,” Miss Master said the moment cobblestones would muffle their conversation. “I'm going to be straight up with you, omega. You can lift your head. I'm a beta, and I won't bite.”

She thought he was frightened of her? Dean did as she asked and looked at her directly, exactly as he shouldn't. She was attractive, with bright eyes and dark hair, and wearing... A butler's suit? Dean's eyebrows shot up. Female butlers weren't done.

Miss Masters smiled at him. “See? Feel some kinship with me already, don't you?”

“You're a butler.” Dean couldn't believe it. That was like seeing an alpha in a dress.

“Yep. And, I do a good job for Master Novak,” she said. “I don't need a dick for that.”

Dean winced. Being sequestered in an omega school meant not ever hearing foul language. Sure, he used curse words in his mind, but it was different hearing them out loud.

“Wow,” Miss Masters said as she looked at him. “You sure you're an omega? You really are enormous.”

Plainly, Miss Masters wasn't polite company. It was up to Dean to adjust to her speech and pretend nothing was wrong. “I'm not that freakin' big,” he scoffed. But yeah, he was. Most people weren't even close to his height, no matter how they reproduced. Ever since the environment took a whack a hundred and fifty years ago, people were breeding smaller.

“You're taller than Master Novak,” she judged. “He's one of the tallest people I know.” She shrugged. “Well, you're what he wanted. A big troublemaker. I heard that you're the one who burned down the opera house, Dean. Is that true?”

Dean kept his eyes level and didn't reply.

Miss Masters smiled slowly. “You did,” she murmured. “The official story was a candelabrum fell against the drapes, but I heard gossip in the scullery at St. Addams' place.”

Dean pressed his lips together, and gathered himself. “People talk, especially servants,” he said. “I wasn't anywhere near the start of the fire.”

Miss Masters nodded. “No, you were fighting outside with St. Addams himself. Almost got yourself a death sentence for that. I heard he whipped you in front of his entire house.”

“Weak old man,” Dean said flatly.

“And you weren't getting knotted to that, were you? Don't blame you one bit, green eyes.” Miss Masters took a small pouch from her velvet coat pocket, and opened it up, showing Dean she had actual cashews for a snack. Nuts that cost fifty marks a pound. She offered the bag. “Take a handful. It's a long drive, and we'll have to stop somewhere overnight.”

Dean had never eaten cashews, only seen them. He took a few, and only put one in his mouth. The moment he bit down, he knew he'd found a new craving.

“Good, huh?” Miss Masters put the bag down between them on the seat. “Eat all you want. I order these because the master loves them. And, he can afford to feed them to us, too.”

“Who is this guy that bought me sight unseen?” Dean asked her. “Most alphas come and have a look at the cattle themselves.”

Meg smiled again. “Most alphas are not like Castiel Novak,” she told him. “He's unimpressed by looks, money, or power. You might have heard of his mother and father? Zachariah and Naomi Novak?”

Dean felt the blood leaving his face. “They own all coastal property on this continent,” he said. “No one can fish or sail without their knowledge or assent.”

“Yeah, that's them,” Miss Masters agreed. “Castiel is their firstborn. Don't worry, you don't have to live with his parents. Master Novak has his own estate in the middle of Dark Wood. I expect you'll have to meet the parents, eventually, because they'll want to see what their son chose for breeding stock.”

Dean shoved some more nuts into his mouth.

He would escape. He knew he would. He always did, one way or another.

* * *

 

 

Dean usually hated being veiled. Miss Masters had put one on him before they exited the coach, and she didn't have to explain why. He was a promised omega on his way to his husband, or owner, which represented the more honest way of looking at it. No other eyes should see him during the journey. No one should speak to him, either, not even the two enormously muscled, beta bodyguards that flanked him once he got out of the fancy vehicle.

Despite the veil, Dean kept his head bowed. Better to seem submissive and cowed, so that when the time came he could take people by surprise. He had to be led inside the bed and breakfast by Miss Masters. He smelled venison stew, the main staple of people nowadays, since supermarkets were a thing of the past. Hell, when Dean was just getting into Sonny's, all of fourteen years ago, they were already eighty years died out. Now, the farmers set up their own markets. Money wasn't being printed much anymore, so bartering ruled. For Novak to have printed money with which to buy fancy cashews, meant he was well off. Really well off.

“Your rooms are ready,” a voice said when Miss Master inquired. “The omega and his bodyguards in one, and you in the other, Miss Masters. Your driver will sleep in the stable with the horses, of course?”

“Yes. Bobby wouldn't have it any other way,” Miss Masters said. “Please have tonight's food sent up to us. I can't risk my master's property down here in the common rooms.”

“Naturally,” the proprietor said. Dean thought he had to be the owner of the place.

He was led up a flight of stairs and put into a bedroom, his bodyguards at his heels. They locked the door, pulling chairs up to sit against it. Dean investigated, found a bathroom, and shut himself up in it.  Off came the veil.  He looked a moment before finding the obligatory candle and match bowl, lit the candle, and shut off the electric lights. It was the polite thing to do, part of etiquette, since electric lighting was precious, only offered as a courtesy for finding one's way in a strange place.

Dean drew a bath, and stripped. The water wasn't as hot as he liked, but, as he was used to bathing in the equivalent of a hot tub, it wouldn't come close to hot enough. That was one thing he'd miss about Sonny's. The laundry vats were long, made of iron, and placed over top of open fires. Once you were done washing clothes, you could change water, get in and wash yourself.  In the winter it took a lot of willpower to vacate the vats.  All the omegas had to run fast to the house to keep from freezing.

He heard the food being delivered. Dean let the water out, dried himself, and put his clothing back on, even to the stupid veil. He came out, noticing three empty bowls and bread crumbs on the tray that sat on the floor. His bodyguards had eaten everything. He said nothing, just got into bed with a hand on his fans. A few minutes later, the candle in the bathroom got snuffed, filling the darkness with the scent of burning.

Dean managed to relax after about an hour. Just as his body began to feel very heavy with oncoming sleep, he heard the sound of buttons being undone, and low key, masculine grunting. His bodyguards were pleasuring each other in his presence, which was entirely taboo no matter who you asked. Dean figured since he hadn't shown himself upset to be deliberately denied food, this was another way to play with him.

He rolled until his back faced the door, and put a pillow over his left ear. Not rising to the bait. Still, he could smell them. They didn't have the scent-bag stink of alphas, or the sweet, almost honey like smell of an aroused omega, but the odor offended him anyway. It was _personal_ , and for them to be making him smell it was an assault.

A banging came at the door. Dean's guards jumped up and began fumbling with their clothes. A few seconds passed before light from the hallway flooded the room, and Miss Masters faced off against the bodyguards. She was tiny in front of them, and not a bit bothered by that. “I _smell_ you two morons,” she said, lifting her voice. “You know how offensive that is?” Her gaze fell on the empty tray, and, Dean didn't know how she knew only two people had dined, but she did. Her pretty face morphed into straight-up ugliness. “Out of this room!” She shouted.  “Sleep in the stable with Bobby. If I come out in the morning, and find you've left, I'll be Master Novak's second in charge at your hunt!”

The large bodyguards fled, their footsteps like thunder going down the staircase. Miss Masters shut the door, barring it with a chair under the knob. Sighing, she approached Dean, who'd sat up the moment everything got noisy.  She perched on the edge of the bed, and offered Dean a fresh bag of cashews. “You should have reported them to me,” she said. “Omega-baiting isn't tolerated in Novak's house. Those two are in for it when we get back.”

“How did you know I didn't eat?” Dean asked. He gladly took the cashews.

“Three dirty bowls, but only two dirty spoons,” she answered, and Dean could have kicked himself.

“You sleep, Dean,” she said kindly. “I'll protect you tonight. No one's getting past me.”

Dean resented being put in the protection of a tiny woman. He sighed, and tried to make himself comfortable again. A few seconds later, he heard the distinct sound of a long knife being pulled from a sheath, and he smiled.

Okay. Maybe she wasn't all talk.

He'd save the cashews for breakfast.

* * *

 

The ride the next morning proved nerve-wracking with Dean's bodyguards tied to the carriage to run along behind. The driver went slow so as not to kill the men, slow enough that Miss Masters, tired from being up all night, fell asleep twenty minutes into the journey. Dean tried to think of the breathless pleading and panting as two guys getting what they deserved, but he couldn't. For omega-baiting, that had been mild. He'd dealt with so much worse.

“Stop,” he said after he'd estimated ten miles. “Please, stop and let them back onto the carriage.”

Miss Masters snorted awake. She'd heard him. Her eyes met his, and Dean thought he saw a glimmer of respect in there. She thumped the top of the interior, and the carriage stopped. “Let 'em back on, Bobby,” she shouted. “The omega doesn't like their punishment!”

Dean heard some grumbling and swearing, felt the vehicle rocking. “They'll need some water,” he added.

Miss Masters rolled her eyes. “You gonna bandage up their boo-boos, too?”

Dean winced. “Are they barefoot?”

“No, they're servants, not omegas,” Miss Masters pointed out, looking at Dean's bare, weathered feet, pointedly. “They have more status than you, ordinarily, so why let your heart bleed for them? They were torturing you as best they could under the constraints of the master's rules, and, the place we were sleeping in.”

“I'm kind of used to it,” Dean pointed out. “One missed meal, and having to listen to them wank each other, isn't very bad.”

Meg stared at him a moment, then threw her head back and laughed. She thumped on the door. “Bobby!”

“What the hell do you want now?” The man asked, unbolting the door and opening it. Dean smelled a mated alpha that spent a lot of time with hay or straw, and animals. “I got the lazy louts back on board!”

“Dean wants them to get water,” she explained.

“You're kidding. After what they did?” The grizzled coach driver set his eyes on Dean, who remembered he needed to have his veil back on too late. The man's eyes took him in as he fumbled with the stupid thing, and he slightly smiled. “Did we seriously go and get Dean _Winchester_ for Master Novak?” He asked Miss Masters. “Ain't he the one who burned down the opera, and set St. Addams on his ear?”

“Well, only the last one is something we can prove,” Miss Masters said. “He wants the guards to get some water,” she emphasized. “I think we ought to do it.”

“It'll just make 'em bleed heavier when Novak takes a rod to 'em,” Bobby grunted. “But, okay. I'll give 'em water. Then, can we go?”

“Yes, you old grump.” Miss Masters shut the door, and Dean heard Bobby locking it.

“I don't understand,” Dean said as they began their journey anew. “Why be so cruel? They might not have survived the trip, running along behind. And, why not give them water?”

“Because, they're cruel themselves,” Miss Masters answered easily. “They reap what they sow.”

Dean settled back, and closed his eyes. His butt was sore from riding, and he ached to get out and move on his own without eyes upon him. He wanted freedom. He wanted to become his own master. His stomach growled, and he got the last half of the cashews out to eat. Though hungry, he offered them to Miss Masters, too.

“No, you eat those,” she said softly. “When we get to your new home, Cook will have dinner waiting. You'll be eating alone, but you won't lack for food. Afterward, one of the house girls will take you to your bedroom, and get you ready to rest.”

“I take it I'm not expected to keep Master Novak warm unless he seeks me out for it?” Dean asked, weary to his soul. “Not usually done that way. Most alphas seem to like to keep their prize meat close to them.”

“You'll learn, Dean, that Castiel Novak isn't like any alpha you've ever known,” she said.

“Stop, or you'll make me curious,” Dean muttered. “He's got to be at least a little bit like other alphas, or I wouldn't be here right now.”

Miss Masters said nothing to that. Dean finished his cashews, and fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

 

“Dean, wake up. We're here.”

Dean groaned, and shook himself. Oh, he was sore. He ached all over. His door opened, and he spilled out, but Bobby was there to catch him. “Easy there,” the older man said, smiling. He let Dean find his feet, and stepped back. “Take it you didn't get to ride very much at that school of yours?”

Dean didn't know what to do. He'd been given permission to speak to Miss Masters, but not Bobby. So, he nodded, and tried to stretch some strain out of his muscles. His fans slid from his kimono, falling to the cobblestone walkway.

Bobby bent and retrieved them, looking at the stamping on the iron sides. He whistled. “Got yourself heirlooms there, don't you, kid?” He offered them to Dean with a smile. “A word of advice? Don't flip 'em at Master Novak, unless you want to be eating 'em.”

“Bobby, you know that's how he's supposed to communicate,” Miss Masters scolded as she ordered the guards down. “Master Novak probably expects it of him.”

“Yeah, and I know that this here troublemaker might be tempted to bash his way to freedom,” Bobby said, and rightly, too.

Dean thought a little bit of communication was in order right now. He flipped one fan open, and shut it briskly to show his displeasure.

Bobby laughed. “I know exactly what that means, you little smart ass,” he said. “You just remember what I said. Use the fans like you're supposed to and it's all good. Take aim at the master, and you're gonna have problems.”

A bell rang, loud and clear. Bobby and Miss Masters straightened up. “I'll go tell Sir we've got his omega,” Miss Masters said, smoothing her suit. “I'll send Charlie out to escort Dean inside. Wait here, will you, Bobby? I have to take the stupid goons in with me.”

“Yeah, sure,” Bobby said.

Miss Masters marched the two guards in ahead of herself, and they followed her orders exactly. Dean watched as she shoved them through an opened door.

Dean looked around. This carriage house was sturdy, made of block-cut stone with thick, wooden beams. The rafters supported a slate tile roof. He expected Bobby would take the carriage straight out the other large door when it was time to tend to the horses.

“Kid, you got no reason to trust me,” Bobby said quietly. “If I was in your place, I'd probably never trust anyone. You got the shitty end of the stick, that's for sure. But, it's okay here at Tor-Valen. It's not paradise. We got problems here same as anywhere, but you ain't gonna be whipped or starved for recreation, you got me?”

Dean bowed his head to show he'd heard, and that he attended Bobby's words.

“Now, that being said,” Bobby went on, “I gotta tell ya, don't be high-tailing it outta here before you get a chance to see what it's like, because if Master Novak has to hunt for you, it's not going to sit right with him. He's a fair man above all else, but he don't take being insulted. You think about that.”

Dean inclined his head. What about the insult of being property just because you're capable of bearing children? What about that? Alphas were so proud and arrogant. They were _weak_ with arrogance. A few choice words could set them into a blind temper. Dean ought to know.

“That veil will come off,” Bobby said casually, making Dean's head snap up. “It's something the master doesn't like. He'll ask you, probably. If you want to keep it on, he'll allow it, but none of the other omegas here do.”

“Other...?” Dean forgot himself, and spoke, having to wrench his mouth shut afterward.

Bobby didn't blink. “You don't think your personal maid would be an alpha who might violate you, or a beta that wouldn't know your deal?” He shook his head. “Charlie is an omega, and so is Cook.”

This time, Dean didn't bother to try and keep quiet. “He buy them, too?” He asked bitterly.

“Yes,” Bobby admitted. “How else is it done, boy?”

“How much did he pay for me?” Dean asked.

“Shit, I don't know.” Bobby took his wide brimmed traveling hat off, and scratched his head. “Seeing as how you're a notorious troublemaker, probably not a lot. Also, you're about ten years past your breeding prime.”

Dean ground his teeth together so hard he tasted blood. “Thanks,” he said sarcastically. “I'm twenty-six, not sixty-six.”

“Just giving you the plain facts as I know 'em,” Bobby defended. “I'm not blowing smoke up your ass. You've had a rough life, and this can't be anything close to what you want for yourself. But, I'm tellin' ya, _wait_ a little while before you do something half-cocked and stupid.”

Fine. Dean could respect being talked to this way. He could, and he did. But, Bobby was an alpha, and had no idea what it was like being told from childhood that you weren't good for anything but cranking out alphas for some other alpha. “Did your father sell you because he was embarrassed you came out wrong?” Dean snapped. “Did you have to leave your little brother? Did you get bought and returned umpteen times?”

Bobby stared at him a moment before putting his hat back on, and shaking his head to the negative. “No, son,” he said gently. “But, I do know what it is to have a bad family. Trust me on that.”

“Clashed with your alpha dad?” Dean asked, interested. It was an old story. Alpha fathers insisting their alpha sons obey them, because it made them even more 'alpha'.

“My daddy, may he burn in Hell's eternal fire, beat my mother to death,” Bobby told him flat out. “I shot him with an old family inheritance, a Colt.” Bobby tapped his thigh, and Dean saw a pistol grip sticking out of a long holster. “My sentence was to go into servitude, and I went to work for Master Novak's parents. When he split from them, he brought me along.”

Dean didn't know what to say the face of that tragedy.

“Oh, there you are!” A young woman with bright red hair briskly approached them. “I'm Charlie, your maid.” She gave Dean a swift bow. “Let's get you inside. I'm sure you want something to eat, and a bath, and then to stretch out on something that isn't moving.”

Dean paused in being led away to give Bobby a respectful nod. Through the diaphanous confines of his veil, he saw the older man return the gesture.

Dean kept his head down, looking at the floor as they entered a foyer, because he heard people moving around. Charlie took him to a very warm room that smelled of vanilla and spices, and she sat him down at a long table that had bowls and jars spread out in various places.

“You wait here, and Cook will bring you a meal,” she said. “You shouldn't eat with the servants, but I'll be able to take meals with you after tonight, and even Cook, too. Don't feel too lonely. We all thought maybe you'd like to get your head together before jumping into the household, you know?”

Her voice, bright and cheerful, managed to make Dean feel better and worse at the same time. Dean nodded.

“Okay! Here comes Cook. I'll be back in forty-five minutes to get you, and we'll go to your room.”

Charlie left, and Cook came alongside. He knew it would have to be the cook because of the apron he could see peripherally, and because Charlie had kindly announced it. A plate appeared in front of him, and Dean couldn't help but stare at it in amazement. First off, it was made of some kind of porcelain so delicate he could almost see through it. Secondly, it had a thick cut of beef, and out of season vegetables sitting on it.

This had to be a mistake.

“You eat that,” a strong, matronly voice commanded. “I don't want to hear any lip about light, delicate, omega fare.” The woman put a glass of something down to his left, and patted the table. “You want more, there's some bread on the stove. The wine is in the ice box. Don't go too heavy on it, though. You might get sick.” She bustled off in a swish of skirts.

Dean had never eaten beef in his life. It was too expensive, and not given to omegas anyway. Red meat was for strength and power, for alphas, not wasted on Dean's ilk. He swallowed hard, looking at the way blood pooled underneath the grill-scarred meat. It smelled better than anything he'd ever smelled before. Slowly, he took up his fork and knife, and cut a piece off, just a small one.

The moment his trembling hand got the bite on his tongue, Dean nearly had a spasm. It was _delicious_. Bloody and seared, and beautiful. He couldn't believe it. He chewed that one bite until it was paste before cutting another, going slowly to savor how wonderful it was. Then, to wash it down, he picked up his glass and got his first ever sip of wine.

Dean thought he would explode. The light, fruity, sweet stuff, went down his throat so easily. A wash of cold perfection that made the meat taste even better. Awed, he took another swallow, and another. His belly warmed up, and a flush of heat hit his cheeks and neck. He forced himself to set down the glass and keep eating.

Oh, God, the vegetables. They were crisp, just barely done, not boiled to death. They tasted of lemon and pepper, and something else Dean couldn't identify, were coated in salted butter and some kind of ground up nuts. He'd never had anything like this meal.

Dean was still eating when the cook returned, and had to quickly flip his veil down.

“Not hungry, you poor thing?” The woman asked him. She tsked slightly.

“Don't take it away from him,” Miss Masters said, entering just behind Cook. “His belly is shriveled. Those two meathead guards ate his food last night, doing other things I can't mention in polite company, too.”

“Oh!” Cook's voice went low and disgusted. “Oh, you poor, poor thing!” She took Dean's wine glass and refilled it, and brought a metal platter of bread over. It was hot, and when she cut squares of butter onto a few slices, they began to melt. “Going hungry all day will make it hard to eat,” she said. “You just sit here as long as you want, dear, all right? No rush.” She left again, and Miss Masters slowly pulled out a chair to sit across from Dean.

“Want me to lock it?” She asked, tilting her head toward the door.

Dean nodded.

Miss Masters announced to the next room she was locking the door for awhile, and sat back down. “Now, you can eat without having to worry about that stupid veil,” she said.

Dean gratefully took the thing off, and went back to eating.

“Good, huh?” Miss Masters asked. “Those others out there? They mostly have no idea how an omega gets raised, but I do. You've never had beef, have you?”

“No,” Dean admitted, feeling ashamed for some reason.

“Your belly is shriveled from missing more than one meal.” Miss Masters seized a slice of buttered bread for herself, and took a dainty bite, chewing and watching him with eyes that were sympathetic but not pitying. Dean knew the difference. Sympathy was feeling sorrow for someone else while untainted by arrogance.

“My God, you've got good table manners,” Meg observed. “You sit up straight, eat one bite at a time, keep your elbows clear, and don't stuff it all in like a farmhand. Master Novak will like that.”

“I'm thrilled,” Dean said, no emotion in his voice.

Miss Masters grinned. She didn't correct his attitude, or even comment upon it, just peacefully finished her bread while Dean made a meal that was supposed to take forty-five minutes stretch out to seventy-five. And, when he got done, Meg took his dirty plate and utensils, and poured more wine for him. “This is the wine we make here,” she said. “It's good. We pay very little attention to white wine with fish and red wine with red meat. Why bother when the stuff you have handy is perfect?” She poured the last glass for herself. “Don't worry about how much of it you drink, Dean. I mean, don't slosh yourself without giving anyone fair warning, but don't put a limit to it when it might ease your mind a little bit.”

Dean nodded to show understanding. “I feel a little bit... woozy,” he admitted.

“You've never had alcohol, either,” she said, hitting that nail right on the head. “Well, you started with the best. Don't say I didn't warn you.”

Dean finished his last glass, and put his veil back on. Miss Masters took that silent cue, and unlocked the door. “Charlie? He's all yours,” she announced. “You got his bath ready?”

“Summersby and Wilkes finished pailing it up five minutes ago,” Charlie said, coming in. “I'll be so glad when the collectors on the roof are finished. No more hauling hot water upstairs.”

“No doubt.” Miss Masters wrapped some bread up in a cloth napkin, and gave it to Dean. “You might want a snack late into the night,” she said.

Dean nodded his thanks, and Charlie led him out of the kitchen. He barely had time to assimilate the large servant's dining room and an informal parlor before getting taken to a long hallway, and then to a flight of stairs that curled upward and back. He watched his feet, seeing the steps were made of old, highly polished wood, stained a dark reddish brown. They felt good against his skin.

At the top, Charlie paused, pointing him toward the bannister. “Take a peek,” she urged. “From up here, you can see the foyer for the main entrance, and the oil lamps outside make the stained glass glow. It's pretty.”

Dean shifted his veil enough to see what she meant. And, it was beautiful. The foyer was uncluttered, just two small tables with flower arrangements on them, and a clean floor. They'd passed this to get to the stairs, and he hadn't seen because his head had been pointed at the floor. All the colored light streaming in made the bare room look magical, and Dean was glad Charlie had stopped him.

“Master Novak made those windows,” she whispered as if telling a big secret. “Before his parents put him in charge of Tor-Valen, he was studying art. He doesn't get to study art much anymore.” This was relayed with an air of sadness. “He's just too busy, you know?”

No, Dean didn't know.

“Okay, well, come on,” Charlie said, taking his elbow again as if he'd fall without her help.

When Charlie opened a door, announcing this was his room, Dean expected a small, undecorated space. He stopped dead when confronted with a room done in dark wood trim with burgundy wallpaper and many bookshelves. It was a large room, suited to comfortably keep a dozen people from knocking into one another. The bed, an enormous thing made of iron, actually had posts and a top. Heavy drapes of velvet were tied back on it. There was a fireplace burning cheerfully high, and before it, a short, deep tub made of metal. Steam curled up from it.

Dean thought he'd never wanted a bath so badly in his life.

“Okay, so here's the deal,” Charlie said. “I'm your maid and I'm allowed to see you naked. You can talk to me, too.”

Dean wasn't sure he wanted anyone to see him naked. It was different at Sonny's. He'd grown up there with other boys. But, the last five years he'd tried to bathe alone, because his bigger, mature body caught attention. Then, the evidence of what St. Addams had done to him.

“Don't be shy,” Charlie chided. “I've seen a lot of naked people. A maid gets around.” She tugged Dean's veil off before he could stop her, and she jumped back at seeing his face. “Oh,” she whispered. “Well, Master Novak won't be disappointed.”

Dean kept his face neutral. “Why is that?”

Charlie swallowed and gave him a weak smile. “You didn't have mirrors at your school?”

“No,” Dean admitted. “What's the point?”

“What's the...?” Charlie's eyes went wide. She moved closer to him and slowly put her hand on his obi. “Are you telling me you've never seen yourself, Dean?”

“Not since before I was twelve,” Dean admitted.

Charlie held a knuckle up to her mouth a moment before taking Dean's kimono off. Trembling a little, she worked the knots on his undergarment, a sheath of cotton meant to give an extra layer for warmth and modesty. She had to reach up to do this, since the ties were on the shoulders. “Why not have mirrors?” She asked.

“They're expensive,” Dean pointed out. “Sonny's Place was for underprivileged omegas. He barely kept us fed. Rich alpha buyers fund him.”

“Oh,” Charlie said, sounding sad again. “I didn't grow up in one of those homes. I don't mean to be insensitive.”

“It's fine,” Dean assured her. But, he felt curious as to how the girl had grown up. Most people didn't keep omega children. They were too much hassle, too much risk. They were hard to defend when their heats came upon them, and couldn't work, so posed a drain on family finances.

Dean put his fans on the floor, and Charlie's eyes darted to them as she rendered him naked. “Your fans,” she said, sounding as if she looked at a mythological thing. “Your communication devices and your... weapons.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, glad her eyes weren't examining his naked body. He stepped into the tub and she quickly went to his aid to keep him from slipping. “Doesn't look like much of a weapon, I know.”

“No, it doesn't,” she agreed.

Dean slid down and put his back to the smooth, heated metal, sighing. What a nice, hot bath. Still not as hot as he had grown accustomed to, but better than the one in the bed and breakfast. He realized he didn't know what he'd done with his bread, and craned his neck around. He'd dropped it upon entering the massive bedroom, apparently, for there the bundle lay, on the floor.

Charlie saw where his attention went, and retrieved it for him. She put it down on top of a massive dresser, and then placed his fans there, too. “What kind of soap do you want?” She asked, taking a wooden box from one of the drawers.

“Whatever works, I guess,” Dean answered. What kind of question was that? Soap was soap.

Charlie returned with a small cake of something that smelled of oranges and something else very nice, something dark. “I'll wash you with the patchouli, since Master Novak won't be able to see you until tomorrow or the next day,” she said.

Oh. Right. Alphas and their appreciation of omega scent.

“I wash with neroli and rose to cover up my smell,” she informed as she got a hand in the water and began lathering up Dean's arm. “We don't have too many alphas here at Tor-Valen, but I like to not cause them stress.”

Dean suffered through the bath well enough until Charlie insisted upon washing his back. The predictable reaction made him close his eyes in mortification.

“Who has done this to you?” Charlie asked, her voice going tight and thick.

“Charles St. Addams,” Dean answered. “I fought him in public. He'd made a claim and I refused. He was an old man and had too many people around him, so death was off the board. He took full advantage of getting his dignity back.”

“Oh my God,” Charlie said as she gently washed his back. “You're the omega that burnt the opera!”

Dean sighed through his nose. He'd really believed no one could pin that on him, but servant talk could have him brought up on charges all over again. “If that could be proven, I'd be dead right now,” he pointed out. “Please don't talk about it.”

“All right,” she agreed softly.

The bath took too long, and Dean was nodding off by the time Charlie thought he was clean enough, even to the hair washing. She helped him out, dried him, and put him in a long silk nightgown of brilliant white, the symbol of his assumed virginity. And, once she'd tucked him into bed under heavy quilts and good sheets, she built his fire up fully.

“Ring the bell if you need anything,” Charlie said, not meeting his eyes anymore. She left him without another word, or even telling him where the bell might be.

Dean lay there, unsure of what made him feel so unwilling to get up and get dressed in order to flee. Fine, it was warm here. He couldn't remember being so warm outside of laundry/bath days, not in the late fall. And, yeah, he had a full stomach for a change, too, which made him sluggish. The bed felt good. Supportive and soft, nothing like a bed roll. Getting creature comforts was nice, but Dean wouldn't let the gold of his cage bars trick him into lying down for good.

Wow, it was quiet. He only heard the fire. The room must be sound-proof. Well, of course. When the master of the house intended to spread him, he wouldn't want the servants hearing any screams. Keep the abuse behind closed doors and everyone can pretend the world isn't a mess of slavery and bigotry.

Just as Dean was drifting off to sleep he heard a door in the hallway shutting quietly. The room that shared the north wall of his room, he guessed. A moment later he heard soft knocking, and Charlie's voice. The door opened again and two voices murmured to each other lowly. Then, the door opened and light, female footsteps skated the wooden hallway.

So, the room wasn't sound-proof. And, Dean could bet that the bedroom beside of his was Novak's.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Morning light awakened Dean. He guessed it to be six, or slightly after. There weren't any clocks in the room. He got up and examined his dresser to see what kind of clothes he'd be expected to wear, coming up with the traditional kimonos. Only, they weren't traditional as far as what Dean was accustomed to. They were thick, double layer silk, and stitched ornately. More than a little awed, he grabbed a dark green one, and spread it on the bed.

It had a large, perfectly sewn tiger in brilliant orange on the lower line, coming out of a bamboo thicket stitched in many shades of dark and light green. The thing was beautiful. He should have expected that, though. Novak was loaded. He would want to show off his wealth by dressing his omega in the evidence.

Still. He couldn't go around naked.

Dean found an underlayer, also made of silk, and put it on, then donned the kimono itself. It felt good. So good. He felt glad he wasn't a hairy omega, having to shave in order to feel the silk properly. In his life, he'd learned that any comfort you could get proved better than nothing.

Dean walked to the first bookshelves, and had a look. He could read, which made him above the average omega. Granted, he couldn't read at an advanced level.

All these books. They amazed him. Maybe Novak had put him in the library. He grabbed one that promised to be poetry. Then, he stacked wood on his fire. He went and sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to perch on it in such a way that he'd wrinkle the silk of the kimono.

For an hour he read, struggling with some of the words. Then, Charlie came and took one look at him already up and dressed, and pitched a mild fit. “I'm supposed to help you,” she scolded, taking his book away. “Come on, it's time for breakfast. Where's your veiled hood?”

Dean got the hateful thing and put it on, then followed her into the hallway.

Morning light made Novak's windows glow, but not as brightly as last night. The light seemed more indirect. Dean wondered why he'd put those windows on the side of the house that got evening light instead of morning.

Charlie took him to the kitchen, and sat him down with Miss Masters. Cook remained unseen. Meg served them both as if accustomed to it, and Dean was soon lifting his veil in order to eat waffles with real maple syrup. Every Christmas morning at Sonny's place, the boys got pancakes with real syrup, so this didn't blindside him with opulence. But, he still wondered about a place where the servants got such quality food.

“Did you sleep all right, Dean?” Miss Masters asked.

“Yes. It's quiet here,” Dean told her.

“The school was noisy, I'll bet,” she commented.

“Eternally,” Dean answered, smiling a little.

“Wow,” Miss Masters said. “That's some smile you've got there, Dean.”

Dean didn't understand, and it must have showed.

“Dean's not looked in a mirror since he was twelve,” Charlie said as if announcing something scandalous.

Miss Masters, unlike Charlie, didn't seem surprised. “Right,” she drawled. “Might shock you to know, Charlie, that most omegas don't stay at home with their well-off parents until adulthood.” She took a healthy bite of waffle, and gave Charlie a weird look. “You lucked out, kiddo,” she added.

“Oh, I know I'm ignorant,” Charlie protested. “I just think it's sick.”

“Lack of a mirror is nothing,” Miss Master said, now a bit cold.

Dean got a feeling Miss Masters had an omega loved one, somewhere. Or, used to.

“Yeah, I _know_ ,” Charlie said, now raising her voice.

“No, you don't,” Miss Masters said.

Dean heard footsteps, and lowered his veil. But, the two women, who were now bickering in earnest, didn't hear. And, the door opened.

Dean looked up into an unbelievable face. High cheekbones, sculpted nose, brilliant blue eyes and a full, soft looking mouth that curved sensuously. Expressive, arched eyebrows were pulled into a look of annoyance. “Meg, I expect you to _control_ everyone,” he said in a voice that sounded like growling, “I _don't_ expect you to snipe at one another.”

Dean's cock gave a jerk.

“My apologies, sir,” Miss Masters, Meg, said, and damned if she didn't sound contrite.

Novak, for it had to be Novak, nodded at her. He looked at Charlie next, who was sitting meekly with her neck exposed, like any good omega. “Charlie, kindly remember that ignorance is no excuse if one proclaims it to the hills and does nothing to change it,” he reprimanded, and oh, _God_ , that voice. Dean had to fight to sit still. Every instinct he had demanded he fall down on his knees and present his ass. Powerful, commanding, Novak sounded like he gargled with salt and arrowheads every morning.

Dean had never, ever willingly prostrated himself before any alpha. He'd fought tooth and nail to keep himself proud. But, he slid out of his chair and got on his knees. Head bowed, he panted into the falling silence. He could taste the shock in the room. But now, he could also smell Castiel Novak.

The man's scent was unreal. It made Dean's blood catch fire. It was autumn rain falling on a bonfire of heather and cedar. It was complicated, clean, and without any stink whatsoever. And, Dean began to shake in fear at finally meeting a hale and hearty alpha that didn't immediately make him sick with musk bag stink.

“And, you must be Dean,” Novak said, his voice now gentle.

Dean shuddered, but managed to nod. He was sweating now, and the smell of patchouli seemed to be oozing out of him.

“Oh, oh no,” Charlie whispered. “I'm so sorry, Master Novak. I bathed him in scented soap last night. I expected you out at the hives all day today!”

“It's all right, Charlie,” Novak said, still using that gentle tone. His boots appeared before Dean's eyes, not shiny, supple, expensive riding boots like Dean had expected, but hard ones slightly caked in dark, dried mud that filled in scuffs and scars on the leather. “Dean isn't here for my pleasure.”

What? Dean thought he might scream. If not here for Novak's pleasure, then who? Who would he be given to?

“Don't be afraid, Dean,” Novak said. Dean felt a light touch on his hooded veil. “You don't have to wear this in my house. You can keep it, if you want. I understand you've been raised to wear it. It probably gives you comfort. But, don't wear it because you think I'll be displeased at seeing your face, and don't wear it because you've been taught it is offensive to show yourself.”

Dean panicked inside. What to do? If Novak wanted the thing off, he should take it off. But, it preserved his thoughts, even his dignity, if he didn't feel like being on display. Even as he deliberated, he felt his hand and arm uniting in a journey upward. He felt his fingers closing over the hateful gauzy stuff that showed the whole world he wasn't considered a person. He bowed his head and took it off, waiting and still panting, and very much feeling like he might have to void his bladder.

“You're exceedingly frightened.” Novak's voice resonated with regret. “Charlie, Meg, please leave us. I'll escort Dean to the place of his choosing.”

The two women left quietly.

Dean almost fainted when Novak knelt on the floor right in front of him. No alpha should lower himself to Dean's level. Ever.

“Dean,” he said. “Let me make something very clear right now. I didn't buy you because I wanted an omega to knot. I bought you to comply with some very hateful and limiting legal issues that insist I have an omega mate. There is nothing in the writ that says I have to actually produce offspring.”

Dean's heart began to slow to a normal rhythm. He nodded to show he was listening. His palms were slick with nervous sweat, and he wiped them on his kimono.

“My parents are the most determined people I know,” Novak went on. “They will take this estate from me if I am not bound to a proven virgin omega. They are so arrogant that they haven't even thought around the idea I might refuse to legally rape someone.”

 _Oh, wow. Heavy hangs the crown,_ Dean thought in a burst of sick humor. The urge to toss up his meal began to subside.

“So, I took advantage of their oversight, and bought you,” Novak went on. “All I ask of you is that you comply with the farce. You will have everything you want, even the freedom to go wherever you choose and on your own terms. I'm not asking or demanding your body, or even your time. All I want is to be able to keep this manor that I love so much.”

He sounded sincere. Dean had a lot of practice with hearing lies, and he wasn't hearing any from Novak. “Why did you want me?” He asked, his head still down.

“Because you're a thorn in the backside of titled, landed alphas,” Novak answered, his voice now containing a smile. “Because, you break the stereotypes. Honestly, I thought you'd be throwing down on me the moment we met.”

Dean ordinarily would have. But, he'd never been hit over the nose or struck in the eyes by Castiel Novak, either, who was enough to crack _any_ omega back to the limits of their encoding. Dean didn't know why Charlie wasn't all over the man. “Bobby asked me to give you the benefit of the doubt,” he said. And, that was true. He wasn't lying, just omitting some information. “He talked to me plainly and kindly.” God, it was _torture_ to try and speak to Novak, and Dean hated that.

“Ah. I see. Yes, Bobby is very persuasive.” Novak picked up the hooded veil and examined it. “You can look me in the eyes, Dean. I don't think much of the way your kind is treated. In time, I hope you forget some of that training you've suffered through.”

Dean wanted to look. He did. He'd never seen anyone so handsome in his life. But, that was the problem. One look at the man and all the fight had evaporated from his blood. Still, Novak was waiting, waiting for eye contact, and probably some answers. Dean lifted his head.

Those blue eyes were like the sky and the ocean combined. Dark, like the denim that miners wore on their legs, but full of depth and dimension.

“Well,” Novak said. “I can see why that old letch, St. Addams, made such a fuss about you. If it's any consolation to what you suffered at his hands, you damaged his reputation _completely_. No one wants to do business with someone who can't control their bought property. Worse, he was so weak he couldn't even make you scream, could he?”

Dean felt himself smiling.

Novak chuckled. “Excellent. I see that fire in there, burning green. Good.” He got up and threw Dean's veil into the fireplace. It went up like flash paper. “You keep that blaze stoked, Dean. Don't let the bastards push you down.” He lowered his hand to help Dean up, and it wasn't the gesture of someone who thought he wasn't able to get up on his own, but an offer of aid for the sake of being polite. And, that made it easy to accept.

Novak had a strong, gentle grip.

“Now, I'm about to go survey my bees,” Novak said. “Would you like to come along and get some fresh air? You can answer me about my problems when you want to.”

“Yes,” Dean answered. “It looks like a beautiful morning.”

 

* * *

 

 

Dean didn't know what to think about being given a horse to ride. He'd never ridden, so Novak put him on one that he claimed was 'push button', whatever that meant. Then, he explained how to hold the reins, how to guide, how to slow and speed the animal up.

Dean tried to focus, but his eyes kept drifting to Novak. If he spent more than two seconds looking at the man, he forgot to pay attention. Luckily, Novak took his distraction for basic fear, and finally just smiled up at Dean. “Would you like to ride with me instead?” He asked. “This is a lot to expect of you, actually. Omegas aren't usually trained to ride, and you're probably a little bit disoriented from leaving your home and being brought here. And, you apparently were worried I was going to use you for a sex slave.”

Dean braced himself, and slid from the horse. It was automatic for him to look away from Novak once they were on equal footing, and he fought with himself. “I... Yes, that might be better. I can watch how you do this.” He dusted horse hair from his inner thighs and tried not to think about what he must have looked like with his kimono riding up his legs. “I'm not dressed for this, though, Master Novak.”

“My name is Castiel,” came the reply.

Novak went into the stable, coming back with a thick blanket. “This will preserve your modesty. Forgive me for not considering that, Dean.”

So, the man hadn't been looking. Dean watched him unsaddle the horse, wondering if Novak proved that noble, or maybe uninterested in sex unless while in rut. It happened sometimes. But, a true alpha would rarely pass up looking at an omega's body, especially the legs. That was what they grabbed onto to flip a bitch onto his back.

Novak slung the blanket over his shoulder and reached for Dean. Dean didn't quite know how it happened, but he went from standing on the ground to being on the other horse in a blink, and then the blanket went around his legs in the next blink. Novak mounted, leaned forward and picked up the reins, making his chest hit Dean's back. Dean's heart flip-flopped wildly. That was far, far too gratifying to feel, too much like being mounted from behind.

Dean was hard now, and he prayed he wouldn't start leaking omega slick. He'd be mortified. He'd probably try to kill himself.

“You're very tense,” Novak commented, getting them going. “Try to relax. This is a good way to travel. Once you get the hang of it I'll buy your own horse for you, and you will spend hours a day riding, I promise. As an added bonus, think about how much more difficult it will be for unscrupulous people to catch you when you know how to ride.”

Oh, he had a point there. Dean forced his shoulders to fall into a more natural position, but he had trouble ignoring the hot, hard thighs pressed to his. Even the rhythm of riding mimicked sex enough that Dean knew he either had to come up with a plan very fast, or just confess what the problem was and hope Novak didn't take offense. Nothing would be worse than soaking the man's pants with lubricant.

“C-Castiel,” Dean managed to croak.

Novak stopped the horse. “I'm doing something to upset you,” he said quietly. “Is it the height? Fear of the animal? Being too close to someone you don't know?”

Dean shut his eyes a moment. “This is very embarrassing,” he whispered. “M-my body is designed to feel this... rocking motion a specific way,” he said, and he left it at that.

“Oh,” Castiel said, understanding after a few seconds, more breathing the word than anything else. “Dean, forgive me,” he said quickly, easing back a little bit. “Can you stay up there by yourself a moment?”

“Yes,” Dean told him.

Castiel eased off the horse, walked around, and held the animal's mane in one hand. “If you slide back a few inches we can ride with you behind me,” he explained. “Will that be a problem?”

Dean looked down into earnest blue eyes, eyes that held not a dram of evil intent towards him. He looked at that dark, ridiculous, spiky hair, and the gorgeous mouth currently turned up into concern. “Yeah,” he said, and he slid back. That would probably work. He wasn't made to be a 'topper', and that rhythm going the opposite way would probably be all right. But, he'd have to wait a moment for his dick to go down. “Give me three minutes to think about the most repulsive things I know, okay?” He clutched his blanket for emphasis.

Castiel blinked, making note of Dean's hands. He nodded, turning his back to Dean, then leaned on the horse. “You archenemy, St. Addams, is on a bed pan now,” he offered for Dean's mental ammo.

Dean's dick withered like freshly plucked jewel-weed thrown onto sun heated stones. He groaned, hanging his head. “That worked,” he confessed.

Castiel smiled slightly before getting back onto the horse in a display of grace and power, just jumping onto a jutting stone and hopping on. “My apologies, but it did seem an apt way to get rid of unwanted swelling.”

Dean blushed.

“Dean, you have to tell me when I'm violating you,” Castiel went on easily. “I don't have the instinctual need to dominate an omega, so I might by accident, like just now. That sort of brutishness was missing from me at birth. Which I am grateful for, because I believe it's an excuse that alphas make just to behave badly and not owe up to it.”

Dean didn't know about that. Yeah, a lot of alpha shit could be avoided or toned down, but biology was biology. He stood as an example. Alphas had always struck him as stinky, arrogant, abrasive and infuriating, until he met this man. His body just _responded_ to Castiel. That it wasn't returned in kind meant it wasn't a so-called 'true bond'.

If those even existed. Dean had never heard of or seen a true pair bonding. He thought they might be stories that scared and neglected omegas made up just to give themselves hope during their slavery.

Dean took his time looking at Castiel's shoulders, the back of his slender, graceful neck, his wild hair. The smell of him overpowered Dean in the best way. Comfort, authority, safety... In fact, he was so relaxed now that he felt sleepy. He hadn't entirely recovered from the carriage ride, or the stress, and before long he felt his chest pressing up against Castiel's back. Then, his head drooped and rested on him, too. The rocking motions slowed down, then, and Dean felt Castiel consciously bracing him.

Sighing, Dean fell asleep.

When he awoke it was because a horse face was in _his_ face, lipping him. He jerked to one side, and glared up at the beast. “I'm not lunch,” he said, managing to get up. He'd been lying upon the blanket. He rolled it up and looked for his unusual host.

First, Dean saw the hives. There were so many of them that he couldn't count them all, and they were shaped like hornet's nests, kind of. There weren't many bees flying around, probably because of the temperature, but he heard them buzzing. There had to be billions of them to make this much racket. But, he then spied Castiel.

Castiel wasn't wearing any protection against bees, like what Dean had been made to expect. He stood at a hive maybe twenty feet away, his bare arm up inside it to the bicep. He held a piece of thin, translucent paper in the other hand. As Dean watched, he pulled a chunk of comb out and dropped it onto the paper.

Several bees lit on him as he began to return, but he paid little notice. He smiled at Dean when he saw he was awake. “Did you sleep well?” He asked, and then stuck one of his slender, honey coated fingers into the pool gathering under the comb, and brought a dripping glob of dark gold to his mouth.

Dean watched, fascinated, as a light pink, agile tongue swiped out, caught the dollop of honey, and tasted. Oh, that face. Those plump lips. Those eyes slitted with enjoyment. Dean felt his knees weaken. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I slept fine, thank you.”

“Good.” Castiel offered him the piece of comb cradled in waxed paper. “You'll like this. Lavender honey. It's a specialty of Tor-Valen. I encourage all my people to eat it, because it's nourishing. One can nearly live entirely off of honey, did you know?”

“I had no idea,” Dean admitted. He sank his teeth into the comb and bit off a portion while Castiel waited for him to pronounce his opinion.

Oh, it _was_ good. Better than good. It had a dark richness with a light, bright burst of liquidy sugar. Dean groaned as he chewed the comb. He tasted the beeswax, and it didn't hurt the flavor at all.

“It isn't the only honey we make, but it's my favorite,” Castiel said. “This tamped down field we're standing in will be planted with only lavender in the spring, millions upon millions of seedlings. We grow those in hot houses during the last of the winter, so that by the time the bees are awake and ready to gather, there are already flowers for them to harvest.”

If it made something like this, Dean could put in a good vote.

“The beeswax is plentiful enough to make the household candles,” Castiel said. “We also use oil lamps, of course.”

Dean finished every last bit of the honey offered to him.

“Just drop the paper,” Castiel told him. “It's biodegradable.” He smiled at Dean. “I'm glad you enjoyed it. Would you like some on your bread in the morning?”

“Yes, I would,” Dean answered immediately. “I had your wine last night. It was very good, too.”

“Oh, the _wine_ ,” Castiel said, smiling a little broader. “It's considered a dessert drink, high in sugar and in alcohol. It varies slightly from season to season, of course.”

“A dessert wine,” Dean repeated. “Well, it gave me the spins.”

“Really?”

“Omegas aren't usually given alcohol unless it's to make them more... pliant,” Dean told him.

Castiel's eyes narrowed. “I don't like that,” he said.

“It's the way it is.” Dean thought about wiping his sticky fingers in the grass, but thought he'd just pick up dead plant matter if he did.

Castiel saw him twitching his hands and brought a bottle and a handkerchief from his long coat. “Here, I'll pour some water for you.” He dribbled a stream onto Dean's hands and let him take the cloth to clean up.

Dean didn't understand. Here was an alpha catering to him with no intention of spreading him in a bed. All his niceness was just niceness, evidently. He'd watch and wait, but he felt pretty sure Castiel just liked to be kind.

“You're looking at me strangely,” Castiel said.

Dean immediately took his eyes elsewhere. “I've never met anyone like you. You're a considerate man.”

Castiel sighed. “How old are you, Dean?”

“Twenty-six,” Dean answered.

“Twenty-six years old and no one's ever been considerate of you?” He asked.

Again, Dean searched for the right words to say. “Not... _men_ ,” he answered after a long minute.

“Not alphas,” Castiel corrected rightly. “But, also no mentors or teachers, either, am I right?”

“It wasn't necessary to teach us anything but how to bend over,” Dean answered, feeling a wave of fury overtake him. “Or, how to keep our mouths shut, unless screaming was what the buyer wanted to hear.”

Castiel's entire body clenched up, and Dean smelled anger coming from him. It made him _afraid_ , even though he knew Castiel did not direct the anger at him. He took a step back.

Instantly, the smell of anger was replaced by dismay. Castiel volunteered to move even farther away from Dean. “I'm not angry with you, Dean,” he said softly. “I'm angry that we live in a world where value is assigned according to how we mate, who we mate, and how often. I'm angry that you've lived in such poor conditions, and that I can't save all of you.”

“People are expensive to feed and house,” Dean agreed.

“It isn't only the physical needs that make it impossible, but the people with the real power.” Castiel went and picked up the horse blanket and spread it over Dean's shoulders, and Dean hadn't even realized he was shivering until the wind got blocked. “People who think their money and influence are the most important things. They can't see that _human beings_ are the most important things, they're so twisted by greed and darkness.”

Dean realized as he stood there, looking at Castiel and listening to him, that he'd not spoken to anyone this long in his life, not even to other omegas. No, that wasn't exactly it. He hadn't had this much personal attention this long without real fear getting added to it. And, personal attention from someone who didn't assume he was an idiot or a fuck toy.

Castiel got on the horse and brought it over to Dean. “Let's get you back for lunch and some personal time,” he bade. “You doubtless want to explore the house or lounge around in the heat. I shouldn't have asked you to come out here in the cold with me.” He grabbed Dean's arm under the elbow. “Hold on,” he said, and when Dean grabbed him, too, he pulled him up behind himself easy as anything.

The whole ride back, Dean could only think about that strength.

 

* * *

 

 

Charlie fussed over him the moment they returned, straightening his clothing, swiping away little bits of vegetation and dust. When she saw the horse hair on his legs she whisked him away upstairs and began wiping him down with a wet cloth. “He'll turn you into the same kind of barbarian he is,” she muttered darkly.

“Barbarian?” Startled, Dean looked down at her. “Castiel isn't a barbarian.”

Charlie smirked a little and finished cleaning him. She threw the filthy cloth into his sanitation bowl. “Master Novak may not be the kind of alpha to push himself onto an omega, but he's still an alpha,” she said. “If an alpha won't fuck or fuck around to satisfy his savage nature, he'll do something else. Usually, that means brawling.”

Dean blinked. Castiel hadn't seemed anything but gentle.

Charlie rolled her eyes at him. “I guess all you've ever really been exposed to is the sexed-up ones.”

“Well, St. Addams turned nasty when I wouldn't give him that,” Dean admitted.

“Yes, I know,” Charlie said, her eyes now filling with pity, and Dean knew she was thinking about his back. “Dean, fighting and fucking soothe alpha fire,” she lectured. “I know it's obvious, but sometimes things are so obvious that we miss them.”

“You're saying Castiel is violent,” Dean said. “It's not how he came across to me.”

“Of course not.” She shook her head at him. “You're not an opponent in the ring. Master Novak takes his frustration out with bare-knuckle, no holds barred, dirty street fighting. Alphas set up matches, alphas fight, alphas attend and watch.”

“Well,” Dean said. “Isn't that better than going out and raping omegas?”

“Yeah, it is,” she relented. “Thing is, Master Novak _doesn't lose_. He just doesn't. He has a bad rep among other alphas for that. You'd think he'd be the darling of the barbarian hordes, wouldn't you? But, no.”

Charlie heaved a massive sigh. “He's got pretty good control over himself. It's only when pressure builds up that he relents and signs up for a match. There's always some young stud that's made his way up through the bouts, cocky and on top of the game. Then, Master Novak shows up and _wham_!” Charlie pounded her fist into he palm. “Top dog goes down,” she said. “Remember, this isn't a boxing tourney. This is anything-goes. Maiming and killing happen.”

Dean felt a trickle of sweat slid down his spine. “How are there any alphas left in Panomu?”

“Well, these matches are dirty, but they're also organized,” Charlie said. “War criminals, convicts and killers are lined up for these things. Shipped in from all over the world, Dean. You might have been to the capital once, to have your status logged into the birth records?”

Dean nodded. “A long time ago. I was a child.”

Charlie nodded back. “Across from the capital is a big, heavily enforced building with steel bars on the windows and guards so thick you couldn't get between them with a crowbar.”

“Oh.” Dean remembered seeing that building. His father had ignored his questions about it.

“That's where they keep the hopefuls,” Charlie informed. “It's a horrible place, full of alphas of the worst kind, and all of them fighting each other to get the chance to fight a free alpha. If they win, they walk.”

Dean started to get a sick feeling in his stomach. “Just animals,” he whispered.

“Yeah.” Charlie took a comb to his hair. “Master Novak started going to those matches when he turned twenty, about the same time he was given Tor-Valen. He's fought and won nine times.”

Dean didn't ask anything else, and Charlie didn't offer. She fixed him, changed him into a black kimono, and went with him downstairs for lunch. This time, he got to eat with the servants.

As Dean looked at the amazing amount of food given out for the mid-day meal, he noticed the two guards who had subtly tormented him sitting not too far away. He went motionless at seeing their bruised, cut up faces. One of them met his eyes and quickly looked away.

“What happened to them?” He asked Meg, who was ladling golden, butter rich potato soup into his bowl.

“They didn't know their place,” Meg answered, loud enough for all to hear. “Master Novak was obliged to remind them of where our house stands on omega-baiting.”

Dean didn't know if he could eat, now. He stared at his soup a few moments before grabbing his wine glass. The first measure went down like water. Meg silently gave him a refill. As warmth filled Dean's stomach, he stared at the guards until one of them made eye contact again. The fear in the man's eyes turned Dean's nerves sharp and jangling.

“Eat your soup, Dean,” Meg said gently. “Make sure you get some of the bread. Cook made it especially for you.”

Dean fumbled for a slice, taking his attention away from the guards. The hot, buttery bread tasted slightly of pumpkin, and it was very good, but he felt upset, now. It took a long time for him to eat it. His soup had gone tepid, but he ate that, too. He was sitting there, finishing, long after everyone else had wandered off for their various chores and duties.

“Hey,” Meg said, and Dean snapped up to see they were the only ones left in the servant's dining room.

“Yeah?” He asked quickly.

“Don't feel bad for those guys,” she said. “That kind of behavior has to be nipped in the bud, or you get betas that act as bad as alphas. Those guys get chips on their shoulders from not being born on top, and sometimes get even worse than the alphas themselves. Master Novak had to use a firm hand.”

Dean got that. He understood. But, he didn't like people getting hurt because of him.

“Dean, I can see what you're thinking,” Meg cautioned. “They did this to themselves. _You_ were the injured party. And, if Master Novak hadn't punished them, they'd have taken that for permission to keep on omega-baiting. You know things like that escalate. Better for them to take a whipping and settle back into their manners.” She tapped his bowl to prompt him into taking the last little bit of soup. “Tell you what. I know you're used to having something to keep you busy. Why don't you help Cook wash the stuff from lunch? I'll tell Charlie you're socializing in the kitchen, which won't be a lie. I'll tell Master Novak you were homesick and needed to get your elbows in hot, soapy dishwater. That sound okay?”

Actually, yeah. That sounded great. For a little while he could pretend to be something as normal and safe as a scullery maid. “Yeah, that's... That'll help,” he said quietly. He stood and collected his dirty dishes. “Thanks.”

Meg smiled at him and left.

Dean carried in his things and set them to one side of the enormous sink, where other things awaited a good cleaning. Cook looked up at him from the task of making suds with harsh soap and a whisk, and smiled. “Need something to do, dear?” She asked. “Meg told me you might come in to help me.”

Wow. Meg really had shit together. She'd _known_ he'd want the vacation of menial labor by now.

“I'd like to help you,” Dean agreed.

“Well, get a big apron from the door hook so you don't ruin that pretty kimono, and pitch right in,” she said.

Dean took a position to wash, and Cook did the rinsing. When they'd get the drainer full, he'd dry and she'd put away. They worked well together since Dean had plenty of experience in how a kitchen functioned. And, after the third load, Dean felt himself relaxing a little bit. This was honest labor, unrelated to pleasing an alpha or learning how to twitch his hips just right.

“Dear, don't take this the wrong way, but you really need some ointment on those feet,” Cook said after an hour. “I know you've been expected to go barefoot, even in winter, but Master Novak won't want that. When we're finished here, why don't you let me help you get your feet more like feet and less like hooves?”

Dean was so surprised he laughed. He glanced down at his calloused, ragged feet and wriggled his toes. “Are they offensive?”

“Mercy, yes,” she said. “What do you cut your toenails with, a butter knife?”

Dean laughed again, watching the older woman's face crinkle with the shared humor. “All right,” he relented. “Charlie might not like it if you take her job, though.”

“Pish,” Cook said. “Charlie is one of those people who doesn't notice feet. She's never had to stand on her own for too many hours at a time, you see? But, I do. Being a cook means a lot of standing. If I didn't tend to my tootsies I wouldn't be able to do my job.”

Dean nodded, thinking she was right. “What's your name? It isn't 'Cook'.”

“It's Ellen, bless you,” she said.

“That was good bread, Ellen,” he told her. “I mean, the soup was wonderful, but I've never had bread like that. Almost like dessert.”

“I thought you'd like that,” she said, smiling. “Would you like to learn how to really cook, Dean? There's no rule against an omega knowing how to cook properly. It isn't considered physical labor, for some crazy reason, and it can be passed off as you wanting to please the master of the house.”

It would be nice to have something to do, Dean thought. “Charlie will be upset if I spend all day every day down here,” he pointed out.

“How about if we start with a few weeks of learning breakfast?” Ellen asked. “You get that down and we do lunches. Then, supper. That way, every day, you get a few hours of some creative busy work.”

Dean's entire attitude brightened. “Ellen, yes,” he said. “Please. Do I need to talk to Master Novak about it?”

“I'll do it,” she promised, putting the last dish away and getting out a big, zinc washtub. “You just sit down in that chair and let me start working on your feet.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

And so, Dean was sitting in the warm, overpoweringly spice-scented kitchen with his feet in a tub of hot, moisturizing water, when Castiel came in. The master of the house entered the back way, from the area Dean expected outdoor cooking happened during the summer months, and stopped suddenly upon seeing Dean thusly.

Dean felt his lips pulling back into a smile at Castiel's wide eyes of wonder. “Ellen said my feet were a disgrace,” he explained.

Castiel's slow and cautious return smile made Dean's heart race. “She's grooming you,” he surmised. “Won't Charlie have something to say?”

“That little snip had better not,” Ellen said, returning from the back area with sharp scissors and a file that looked intended for wood. “Have you ever noticed Charlie's feet, sir? _Covered_ in henna. That's no way to behave.”

Castiel looked upward, eyes moving as he thought. “No,” he said at last. I've never seen her feet. Henna? Isn't that for religious rites and courtesan etiquette?” He took his beaver fur hat off and slightly mangled the brim as he continued to think. “Oh, Charlie has a beta suitor, doesn't she? Miss Ruby, from Carrington Hall?”

“Faith, yes,” Ellen said. “That little dark-haired dynamite will be taking Charlie from you, Master Novak, you just wait and see.” She sat down in front of Dean to check one of his feet. Evidently he hadn't soaked long enough, for she stuck it right back into the soapy water.

“I'm never one to stand in the way of love,” Castiel said, smiling. He went to the enormous sideboard, helping himself to a jar of cashews by putting in a scoop and dumping a large amount into a ready bowl.

“What's henna?” Dean asked.

“It's a plant used to dye skin and hair,” Ellen told him. “A lot of omega women use it to darken their nails, or draw on their skin. They've come up with some elaborate designs over the years, patterns borrowed from all over the world. You probably don't know anything about it because it's not used much in Panomu. For one thing, it doesn't grow here.”

Dean felt interested. “Do omega men use it in these other countries?”

“Some,” Castiel answered for Ellen. “Usually the bespoken omegas.” He ate a handful of cashews, closing his eyes as if savoring. “They wear the symbol of their alpha, or the crest of the alpha's house. I seem to recall there's an entire language around the use of henna.”

Ellen stuck her file down into the water and began sloughing off the rough skin at one of Dean's heels. “The stuff eventually wears off,” she explained. “You have to keep reapplying a paste of it to the design to keep it looking good. And, it's different colors. Shades from light red and brown all the way to black.” She used a brush to get dead skin out of her file and went on the attack again. “Master Novak, I'd like to teach Dean how to cook,” she said, changing the subject. “He misses being in a kitchen, and I don't have any children to pass my recipes to. Jo is never going to learn how to cook over anything but a campfire.”

“Oh.” Castiel swallowed down his latest mouthful of cashews. His eyes went to Dean immediately. “Dean, you may do as you like, remember? If you want to spend time in the kitchen, do so.”

“He'll need clothes better made for the work,” Ellen pointed out gently. “For one thing, trousers.”

Castiel blinked twice. “I'll arrange it,” he said.

Dean couldn't believe his ears. An omega wasn't allowed to wear pants. It made access to his ass more difficult, for one thing, and for another it might make people mistake him for a beta, or worse, an alpha. But, there was Meg. A woman wearing a suit. A butler woman. Castiel apparently had no use for gender roles, or designation rules.

“Have Meg take him to Crowley,” Castiel said after a moment. He brought his bowl of cashews over, setting them at Dean's elbow. “That very strange tailor will certainly know what to do. Maybe go in the morning? I'll send word ahead.”

“Thank you, sir,” Ellen said, and she pinched Dean's ankle.

“Thank you,” Dean repeated quickly.

Castiel left them. Dean dipped his hand into the bowl, and got some nuts.

“See, dear?” Ellen said. “You don't have to be miserable here. I know you were expecting it. God only knows how much you must have expected it. But this is a good house. It's even a good _home_.”

Dean nodded, ignoring the feeling of getting his feet positively sandpapered. He ate the cashews while smiling to himself. Maybe things weren't so bad, after all.

 

* * *

 

 

Dean regretted the work done on his feet by the time Meg got him to Crowley's shop. He felt every stone, every grain of sand. And, he felt eyes. Because, there they were, female butler and uncovered omega, walking into the tailor's place like they had every right to do so, bruised bodyguards close behind.

The door had a bell, a loud one, and they all stood to one side as a group of traditionally clothed omega women left with their own bodyguards. A shorter man with facial hair and large, bright eyes glanced up at them from a row of cloth bolts, and did a double take. “Dear _God_ ,” he said loudly. “That's Novak's omega?” He whistled, then grinned. “Get over here, gorgeous, and let's see what I'm working with.”

Omega, Dean smelled, so he wasn't frightened by being given the lusty eyeball. He approached, his entourage right behind him.

“No, just him,” Crowley said, hold up a hand. “It's not criminal for _me_ to look at his nakedness, but it is for you three. Don't worry, I'm not one to take advantage.”

Dean was taken to a back room, and Crowley made him stand by a window made of privacy glass. It let a lot of light in, but no one could see inside. “Let's see...” Crowley made a neck measurement, and wrote it down. “You're well made,” he mused. He measured Dean's arms and shoulders, his waist and hips. He motioned for Dean to take off his clothes, and waited patiently.

“Certainly not the classic omega, are you?” Crowley bent and measured Dean from inner thigh to ankle, and wrote that down. “Well, Novak told me to give you whatever you wanted, including trousers, so that means shirts, too. I'm a bit stymied on what kind of shirts, because though the pants are a violation of protocol enough, alpha shirts are a no-no.”

“I'm not sure I want those fitted things anyway,” Dean told him.

Crowley draped a long robe over Dean, inducing him to sit in a comfortable chair afterward. “Yes, you're used to kimonos...” He snapped his fingers. “I know what to do. You sit tight, darling. I'm an expert, and I'm fast. I'll give you something to go home in, a few changes of clothes, then make your wardrobe and have it delivered.”

Dean actually felt pretty relaxed in this back room with the animated tailor. He had a good fire going, and noises of the street came in very muffled because of all the cloth. Crowley, humming, started cutting and pinning fabric. He was so fast and precise with his stitching that Dean could barely believe it.

“You're really good,” Dean said.

“Thanks.” Crowley winked at him. “S'how I escaped a fate like yours; I made myself a very sought after person to _everybody_. There'd be a riot if I got claimed and sequestered. Not that I'm especially fertile anymore, or much of a temptation in the first place. But, you know alpha males. They like what they like.”

Dean would have instantly agreed with him before meeting Castiel Novak. His new... owner wasn't into sex, though, just beating the shit out of people on occasion, apparently.

“Speaking of which, you're about to go into heat,” Crowley murmured. “I can smell it.”

Dean knew. He'd felt it this morning. The low, burning pressure building up in his blood, heating him inside his ass and making his spine feel loose. “Can't do anything about it,” he sighed.

Crowley eyed him a moment before continuing his work. He already had five garments pinned and ready for stitching. “That's a lie,” he said, very, very quietly. “It's a lie that alphas tell, a lie perpetuated over the years to make us helpless to their whims.”

Dean straightened up. “You're saying I can actually stop my heat?”

“My dear little omega, you have _options_ ,” he said. “Make a deal with me. Get me in as Novak's exclusive clothing designer and tailor, and I'll not only show you how to get control of your heat cycle, but how to prevent being knocked up.”

“You know that sounds too good to be true,” Dean pointed out.

“I'm sure it does, and you have no reason to trust me,” Crowley admitted. “How about I give you a little taste of what I can do?”

Dean hesitated but a moment. “Okay.”

Crowley went to a work desk and opened a drawer. He took a small bottle out, and dropped a pinch of dried material into his palm before putting the bottle away again. Carefully, he went to a tea service that sat on his mantle, and put the powdered stuff into a clean, empty cup. Then, he poured hot water from a chimney kettle into the cup, and handed it to Dean. “You drink this, and tell me if that restless, itchy feeling doesn't go away.”

Dean didn't like the taste, not at all. But, he sat and sipped the stuff for a long few minutes. When done, he held the cup and waited. By degrees, he felt the heat in his body dying down. His spine stopped feeling like a rope. His blood quieted. The burning up inside his ass abated, then vanished altogether. He met Crowley's eyes, amazed. “What is this?”

“Herbs, Dean,” Crowley informed solemnly. “Nothing more than the right amount of the right kind of plants, harvested properly and stored properly. My mother taught me the art of herbalism at great risk, because it's illegal for anyone but a doctor. And, I'm taking a big risk to admit it to you, to offer my services.”

“I'll talk to Master Novak tonight,” Dean promised. “I won't betray you.”

“I didn't think you would,” Crowley said. “The omega who got himself horse whipped half to death in front of a hundred and twenty people just to keep from getting knotted, was a good bet for me.” He held up a pair of very dark brown trousers. “Try these on. You can leave in them if they fit.”

Dean got up and put on the pants. They were perfect, and they felt funny because he'd never in his adulthood felt his legs and balls covered, protected. Crowley gave him a shirt to put on, a billowy thing that laced up at the neckline. The loose sleeves were made with a button at the top of each shoulder, and Crowley showed him how to take a small string at the cuff of each sleeve, loosen the cuff, and tie the sleeves up to the buttons.

“That will leave your arms free for labor,” Crowley explained. “Novak's man explained to me you wanted to learn how to cook, kitchen work and all that.”

“It's a type of freedom,” Dean said, meeting his eyes and thinking Crowley would know exactly what he was talking about, being a tailor.

Those grey-green eyes, intelligent and sharp, softened a little bit. “I know,” the man said. “You do well at your cook training, Dean. Herbs aren't forbidden in the kitchen, where they're used to make the food taste better.”

Dean smiled a little. “How will I send word to you what Master Novak says about securing your services?”

“Oh, he'll contact me himself, if you convince him,” Crowley said.

They left it at that. In another two hours Dean had several boxes of clothing being loaded onto the carriage, and Meg giving Crowley a lot of gold. That sort of gave Dean pause. Gold had value no matter what happened to money, so if Castiel was paying Crowley in it, it meant he respected the service Crowley provided. And, that was a good clue that Dean might not have to work hard at convincing Castiel to make Crowley his private clothier.

“Gotta hand it to Crowley,” Meg said as they rattled their way out of the township on old cobblestones. “He dressed you right. You're provocative, but not challenging. Seafaring shirt, which pays homage to Master Novak's bloodline, and modest pants that show off your attributes without being vulgar. Yeah, he really knows what he's doing.”

“It feels strange to not have my...” Dean rolled his eyes and decided to just let his mouth run. “Having my balls confined a little bit is _better_ ,” he said, expecting Meg to laugh.

Meg didn't laugh. Her eyes were solemn. “Yeah, I can bet,” she said.

Dean clasped his hands together in his lap, and bit his bottom lip. “You lost someone that was an omega, didn't you?” He asked.

“My brother,” she admitted. “Caught the eye of an old, arrogant, vicious alpha when he was ten. I was just a kid, and I couldn't do a damn thing for him.”

Dean bowed his head. “I'm so sorry.”

“Brant is at peace now,” Meg informed quietly. “No one can hurt him anymore.”

“What about the alpha?” Dean asked.

“Oh, _him_.” Meg tapped her coat, making the outline of her knife visible for a moment. “He's on my _list_. You've met him before.”

Dean suddenly had a flash of insight. “St. Addams,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” Meg drawled. “Funny thing, wasn't it, how he started going downhill? Alphas, even old ones, are pretty hardy things. Poor man just started... _sliding_.”

Poison. It had to be poison. She was weakening him for a victory blow. Dean felt his respect for her soar upward like a newly freed bird. “Yeah,” he agreed. “That happens sometimes, though, you know? All it takes is a poor diet. Some of them drink too much, too.”

Meg just smiled at him and settled back to get comfortable. After awhile, Dean did the same.

It was quite possible that he'd get to hear a first hand report of St. Addams' demise from Meg.

 

* * *

 

 

Dean had supper with the servants, volunteered to help Ellen with the dishes, and wondered out loud when and where the master of the house ate.

“We send up a special meal to his room,” Ellen answered. “He used to eat with us, actually, until his parents swept in and forbade it.” She looked at the ceiling a moment, sighing. “For an alpha, Master Novak certainly eats sparingly. And, mostly meals without meat. I make a very thick yogurt that he loves, and he eats that twice a day. The honey he certainly likes. You've seen him eating cashews. He'll eat bread if I put it on his tray. He likes fish more than any other kind of meat. It's a challenge to keep him fed, Dean.”

It sounded like it.

Dean put the last dish up. “Has he eaten yet?”

“No, I'm about to put a few things together,” Ellen admitted. “Would _you_ like to try your hand at tempting his belly?”

“Yes.”

“All right. I'll wipe down furniture. You help yourself to the food stores and give it a shot. The only thing he out-and-out refuses to eat is liver.” She gave Dean a meaningful look. “The very meat that rich alphas ingest to stoke their manliness. Yes, I know.”

Slightly taken aback, Dean began hunting for likely things Castiel might ingest. He found oats, and thought about how Sonny made all the boys gather wild fruits and nuts to make granola, which kept them all fed when food got scarce in the hardest part of winter. He was great at making granola, and with all these ingredients to try, he was sure he could come up with something good.

Dean got a cup of black walnuts, half a cup of cashews, and one cup of hickory nuts measured out while the oats cooked. He found wheat germ, which he knew by the smell. Sonny used it for the younger boys to keep them healthy. He added that to his dry mix and kept searching. Some kind of seeds near the back of the shelves tasted really good, so he took some of them as well. He found a jar of the lavender honey, and decided to use that instead of syrup.

“What are you making?” Ellen asked, coming up to him.

“Granola,” Dean said. “We ate it all winter at Sonny's. You have more ingredients, so I decided to experiment.”

“Oh, I haven't eaten granola in years,” Ellen said. “My mother made it for us, probably for the same reason you got it at the omega school.” She got some oil down and a jar of weird looking, salmon colored rings. “Make sure you put a bit of oil in your batch, and use the apricot,” she said. “Chop that dried fruit up pretty good. It'll swell up a little as it cooks, and balance out all these nuts.” She had a look at his choices, and nodded. “I think you might be onto something here. But, why honey instead of syrup?”

“I tried some with Master Novak, and loved it. I thought it would at least make the black walnuts taste better.”

Ellen looked at him, her eyes knowing. “You boys gathered the black walnuts and hickory yourselves,” she said. “Granola is poor people food. But, you know what? I don't think Sir will care a bit. He's probably never had it.” She got a pan down and began to very, very lightly grease it. “Let's make a loose granola for breakfast foods, and roll some of it into sticks for travel,” she said.

“That sounds good,” Dean admitted. It perked him up to have Ellen's input, and her opinion. “Having something easy to eat that isn't salted meat, is better for everyone.”

“You say that like you got to eat meat a lot,” Ellen replied.

“We were allowed to fish,” Dean said.

“Do you like to?” She countered.

“I kind of did,” Dean admitted. “It was quiet. And, catching a fish meant eating more than your rations.”

Ellen smiled. “I don't know how you got to be so big while being half starved.”

Soon they were baking the loose granola on trays, turning it every so often to keep it from scorching on one side and not getting done on the other. While Ellen rolled the granola sticks, Dean got out a fancy looking glass bowl and layered the bottom with pitted cherries. He put yogurt on top of that, then a layer of hot, toasted granola, and painted the top with a thick, back and forth stripe of lavender honey.

“Dean, dearest,” Ellen said, smiling as she looked at his concoction. “I think he's going to love that. Would you like to take it to him?”

Dean suddenly felt very nervous. But, maybe he ought to do as she said. It might be a good opportunity to talk to him about Crowley. “Okay. What about his drink?”

Ellen put a linen napkin underneath the bowl, and set it on the tray neatly. “We'll make him hot tea,” she announced. “I already have water on.” She put a spoon and a folded napkin down, then. “He likes tea, _real_ tea, not the stuff we all make for medicine, like chamomile. You'll find a jar of it sitting by itself in the back of the pantry, away from light and heat.”

Dean found the jar quickly. He watched Ellen warm a teapot with hot water and then pour it right back out. She measured leaves from the jar into it, and poured again, then capped it. “You have three minutes if you want to primp,” she said, winking.

Dean blanched. “Uhh, I'm not...”

“I know, Dean, but why not be eye candy for him? He isn't going to assault you, and you _are_ very handsome.” Ellen reached over and pinched his bottom lip, hard, and only smiled when he jerked and scowled. “There, that got some pink to the top,” she said.

Dean scrubbed his mouth with a hand towel. “That's a terrible trick to use on him,” he protested. “Making it look like I've been kissing someone!”

“Dear, I know you're not a typical omega, and Master Novak is far from being the typical alpha, but I think you'd be good for each other. He needs a friend. Don't you?” Ellen got a large mug down for heating with boiling water, too. “There's no harm in being pretty for Sir.”

“You might stir him up to real alpha behavior, putting me on display,” Dean argued.

Ellen, eyes serious and face generally arranged into an expression of 'so what?', said, “Would that be so bad? I saw how you reacted to him.”

Dean wanted to crawl under a table. He didn't need reminding, thanks. “That was humiliating,” he whispered. “I've never felt like that in front of an alpha.”

Ellen nodded. “Dearie, I've been mated for thirty-five years, happily, and the master's scent is still sometimes enough to make me take a break and run to my cabin for my husband.”

Dean blushed.

Ellen dumped the water from the mug, and poured tea into it instead. “You take that tray up to him, now. His bedroom is right beside of yours. I expect he's busy with his books, but he'll stop and eat. Keep him company, then bring the tray back down to me.”

“All right, Ellen,” Dean relented.

Carefully, Dean carried the tray upstairs. He had to hold it in the crook of one arm in order to knock.

“Come in,” Castiel's rumbling, incredible voice bade.

Dean swallowed hard, and turned the knob. “Supper, sir,” he said.

Castiel was seated at a long, large desk, stacks of books and papers all around him. The room smelled of something powerful and cloying, covering up Castiel's natural smell, and Dean felt grateful. The décor was minimal, just a chest of drawers, a plain bed, loaded bookshelves, and a pitcher and bowl stand.

Dean spared a moment to realize that he'd only stopped to take a pee a few times in the last few days, and hadn't once yet had to void. He didn't feel bad, so perhaps it was the change in diet.

“Dean,” Castiel said, surprise making him straighten up. “Stop calling me 'sir'. That's not for you. And, what are you doing, serving me?”

“Because, _I_ made this,” Dean said, putting some pride and power in his reply. “And, I wanted to see if you liked it.”

Castiel's instant smile relaxed Dean. He took the tray eagerly, his bright blue eyes examining the bowl. “Oh, for me? Your first meal was for me?” Still smiling broadly, he sat, then pointed Dean to a chair. “I'm honored, Dean.” He grabbed his spoon, got a glob of yogurt with the crunchy, honey laden granola on top, and put it in his mouth. Twice he chewed.

The expression that Castiel made caused Dean to feel like he'd swoon. The pure _pleasure_. Castiel tilted his head back as he swallowed, his throat so beautiful and elegant, his eyelashes fluttering. “Oh, _Dean_ ,” he said, his voice almost protesting. “What _is_ this you put on the yogurt?” He held the bowl up to his face for examination, the childlike enthusiasm so natural that Dean quivered in place. An alpha should not look so free and easy and uncontrived, but Castiel turned that rule on it's ear and whipped it.

“It's granola,” Dean said, starting to smile. “It's made with whatever nuts and dried fruit you have around, oats and syrup, or in this case, that awesome honey you make here. You put it on a pan, and bake it.”

“It's so good,” Castiel said, getting another spoonful. This time he got some of the cherries, too, and he groaned aloud as he chewed.

“We ate a lot of it at Sonny's,” Dean explained. “It's pretty much the ultimate health food, I guess. It'll keep you alive all winter, even if there's nothing else to eat. Trust me, you can get sick of it.”

“I can't imagine,” Castiel said.

Dean sat there in silence, watching Castiel devour his creation, feeling proud. “Do you want more?” He asked when Castiel had finished, and sat back to drink his tea.

“I'd better not,” Castiel said reluctantly. “I usually don't eat that much in one sitting.”

Dean struggled with himself to not comment, and lost. “Okay, you can tell me if I'm out of line, of course, but how does a guy get as strong as you without eating?”

“I eat,” Castiel said. “Mostly cashews, but I eat.”

That open, honest, confused face, wrenched a full laugh out of Dean. He bowed his head to get control of himself, and when he risked a peek and saw the same confusion still there, it only made him laugh harder. Suddenly, he became convinced that someone needed to take _care_ of this alpha. There was a reason Ellen hoped he could come up with something to tempt Castiel's belly, and a reason Meg was so proud of being loyal to him.

Dean slid out of his chair and approached Castiel the way he'd been taught to, on his knees, but he didn't lower his head. He saw Castiel open his mouth in shock, and hurried to put a hand on Castiel's chair to stop him from telling him to get up. “Castiel,” he said gently. “Let me make you some regular meals, okay?” He asked, watching Castiel relax at seeing this wasn't about omega subjugation, but about supplication. “Cashews are wonderful, and they're obviously doing you some good, but you need more than that. Let me cook, and give me the incentive of using you as my taster?”

Castiel gave him a thoughtful frown. “I can't be here for every meal,” he said.

“That's okay,” Dean said. “Ellen figured out how to roll that granola into sticks, so we can all take it with us and eat whenever we want. We'll just load a bag with them in the morning and you can grab it on your way out to... whatever and wherever.” He made a mental note to ask Meg for Castiel's schedule, so he'd know which mornings to have a specially made, tempting breakfast ready that might slow the master of the house down. “Just maybe one meal? Supper?”

Castiel tilted his head at him. “If I say 'yes', will you get off your knees?”

“I will this time,” Dean promised. “But, I need to say something, okay?”

Castiel nodded his encouragement.

 

“You've got an omega on your hands, here.” Obvious fact, but Dean didn't think Castiel knew exactly what that entailed. “I'm not your peer. The way you're seeing me right now is how I've been trained to look. For you. For any alpha.”

“But, you fought against that,” Castiel pointed out quietly.

“Yeah, I did. Because, I wasn't being appreciated. Because, I was being taken for granted. Because, I was scared.” Dean put his hands on his thighs and waited a moment for that to sink in. “And, because I'm not having to fight for my dignity, or even the ownership of my own body, it's easy for me to relax back into the training.”

“Is that _right_ , though?” Castiel asked him, sadness in his eyes.

“I have no idea,” Dean admitted. “Just be patient with me, if you can. Maybe... maybe the more I relax, the easier it will be to stop thinking of myself as an omega.”

Castiel gave him a single nod of assent. “You're a wise person, Dean. All right, yes. One meal a day. Supper. Keep me supplied with the wonderful granola. I'll try to not push you too much on giving up your training, too.” He paused. “Now, will you get off your knees?”

Dean got up, and went back to his chair.

Castiel breathed out. “You have no idea how it makes me feel to see you down on the floor like that,” he muttered.

“Most alphas would love it,” Dean said. “You? Not so much.”

Castiel sipped his tea and said nothing, flickers of indefinable emotion in those beautiful eyes.

Dean got up to gather the tray. “Crowley made a few things for me to wear, and promised to have more delivered,” he said, going to safer topics. “He... expressed a desire to become your exclusive tailor.”

“Did he?” Castiel snapped out of his deeper thoughts. “Well, I suppose I wouldn't have anything to lose by dropping Pennyweight out of my employment. He's finicky, and likes to dress me in leather far too much. I'll send Crowley a letter.”

“That easy?” Dean asked.

“You look comfortable and presentable, and everything Crowley has made for me to date has been exceptionally high quality,” Castiel said. He dragged a sheet of peculiar looking, lustrous paper from a stack, and dipped a beautiful, black quill into a crusted ink well. “I wonder if I can convince him to live on the estate?” He muttered to himself. “A lot of my people need new clothes...”

Dean got the tray, bowed and backed out of Castiel's door, pleased his mission had been accomplished. “Goodnight, _Master_ Castiel,” he said.

“Dean,” Castiel said irritably.

Dean dared to shut the door without correcting himself or apologizing. Smiling, he made his way back to the kitchen. “He liked it, a lot,” he told Ellen. “I told him we'd have some in stick form waiting for him every morning so he can grab it on his way out.” He put the tray down and pointed for emphasis, for pride.

“I think this counts as a success,” Ellen said, beaming. She got out a bottle of wine and poured for them both.

Dean and Ellen split the bottle, and Dean went to bed half looped. Charlie was waiting for him. She got him ready, scolded him for letting Ellen fix his feet, and built up his fire before vanishing in a partial snit.

Dean was smiling even as he fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

 

Dean and Ellen prepared breakfast, and Dean learned how to make potato bread. They only saw Castiel a moment, for he'd come to get the promised granola. But, Castiel smiled at Dean on the way out the back kitchen door.

Dean got to washing dishes, blushing, and hating himself for it.

“Master Novak's parents will be here in a few days,” Meg said, coming in right after Castiel left. “Did I hear Sir leaving?”

“Oh, God,” Ellen said. “Yes, he just left. Do you want to catch him?”

“No. No, it would kerfuffle his day, and he's supposed to be trading our mead for a variety of cheeses from the Roche dairy. He needs all his fortitude to endure Balthazar's shenanigans.” Meg sank onto a chair and propped her chin with a fist. “I'll order a deep cleaning from the staff, because his mother will go around with white gloves to make sure the family home is spotless.”

“Oh, she _will_ ,” Ellen agreed swiftly. “I'd better get Hettie in here to get this kitchen in top shape, too.” Ellen threw her dishcloth down rather violently. “I can endure it as long as I don't have to hear Zachariah lecturing Sir.”

“Good luck with that,” Meg snorted. “He has a list. It starts with 'why aren't you married yet?' and goes through his lack of heirs, his comportment, his clothing, and usually winds up a lecture about 'decent alpha pursuits'.”

Dean remembered Meg telling him that Castiel's parents would want to see their son's choice for breeding stock. “Do they know about me?” He asked.

“I can only assume so,” Meg told him. “This isn't the usual time of year they make their way down to straighten up us heathens. Your getting sold off would actually make for good gossip, you know. It's a bonus you haven't run off and disgraced the master.”

“Is it?” Dean asked. “I got the feeling he wanted to use me to make them mad.”

Ellen and Meg exchanged a glance.

“What?” Dean asked.

“They'll be _thrilled_ at the idea he's bought an omega,” Ellen said after a few, tense seconds. “Sir knows that. But, Sir wasn't buying the troublemaker omega to bait his parents. He just didn't want a fragile thing being thrown against them.”

“He wanted someone that wouldn't let Naomi and Zachariah Novak walk all over him,” Meg added. “You were the only omega he'd heard of that had any sort of rebellious history. I had to do a little asking around to find out what you looked like, then pick you out of the line up.”

Dean had figured most of this, at least in a nebulous sort of way. “I know what to do, then,” he said, thinking about his wardrobe and the rules of comportment. “Will someone escort me to town, quickly? I need to talk to Crowley. Master Novak sent him a letter last night, but it won't get to him any sooner than three days, and we need the tailor here to work on clothing for the staff. And, he's fast, but he's not a miracle worker, so we also need any talented seamstresses we can get our hands on.”

Again, Meg and Ellen's eyes met.

“Well, _shit_ ,” Ellen said. “Good thinking, Dean. Here, I'll get Bobby to ride out with you in a dog cart. You sweet talk that sassy tailor into coming back with you.”

Meg stood up, reached into her coat, and pulled out a sack. “Give him this as incentive,” she said. “Two pounds of gold now, and ten when he gets here. Wait just a moment and I'll get you a cloak so you can hide your face a little bit in town.”

Dean tapped his finger against the prep table, and thought while he waited. “What about the rooms his parents will use while they're here?” Dean asked. “Do they split up?”

“Not usually, just when one of them is ill,” Ellen said. “You got Zachariah's old room and Master Novak is using his mother's.”

“Have Charlie strip all evidence of me out of that room,” he said. “Change the sheets and air the mattress so they don't smell omega in there. They'll have to share the room, because Castiel isn't sleeping with the _horses_ to make his parents all nice and comfy in a house they have no business claiming anymore.”

Ellen sucked in a breath. “But, that's almost exactly what they're expecting,” she whispered. “They fully intend to spread out and take over while they're here! Master Novak has always volunteered to let them do so just to keep a modicum of peace!”

“That was before he had an omega to keep him warm at night,” Dean said, flushing hotly. “Those rooms are right up against each other, and they'll be able to hear what we're doing. If I _have_ to, I'll give them a show. They won't have one reason to protest Castiel's choice, because I'm gonna use every trick I've been taught, plus a few I made up for fun.”

Ellen's hands flew up to her mouth. Her eyes bulged. “Oh my God,” she whispered from behind her fingers. “You're going to send them _reeling_ , Dean!”

“I'm not done,” Dean said. “I haven't even started.” He grabbed the cloak Meg was offering to him on his way out the door. “I'll be back as soon as I can.”

Dean heard Sonny's words of advice in his head _. “Don't ruin this, Dean. The Novak family is wealthy and influential, and if their son wants you, play it up. Make yourself indispensable, someone he can't do without, and you have a chance at some small amount of happiness.”_

But, there was more to it than this. There were other people involved. Ellen and Meg and Bobby were good people, loyal to Master Novak. They even liked him.

Dean felt a bit sick, thinking about how much he was about to invest in a man, an alpha, that he didn't really know. But, all of Castiel's servants cared for him. That had to mean something. And, Castiel had been very kind to him. He deserved to keep his home. He deserved to keep the people here. Dean would be damned if he let something very close to happiness slip by just because of designation bias. He'd put on a show the likes of which Castiel's parents couldn't deny or ignore. And, his efforts would keep him safe, in the long run. He had to believe that.

Dean headed right for the stables, and found Bobby already getting the two-seater trap ready. “Bobby, this estate keeps cattle, right?” He asked. “I mean, I had beef my first meal here.”

“Yeah, we keep large herds, actually,” Bobby said. “What's this about? I thought you wanted to go into town to see Crowley.”

“I do, but I need to see the man that oversees all the cattle first.” Dean hopped into the trap and pulled his cloak hood up. “Please, please hurry. We're on a bad time limit, here.” His stomach roiled with the idea of what he was about to do, but he'd still follow through. He would. He might have a chance at being happy at Tor-Valen, but it would take work. It would take sacrifice.

“All right,” Bobby said, getting in the dog cart and applying the whip gently to make the horses start. “It's going to take half an hour at top pace to get to the guy. What's so important?”

“You'll see, and I'm gonna make you and the guy swear to secrecy.” Dean stared straight ahead as they took the long driveway down toward the hard packed access road. “It's not ever going to hurt Master Novak, I promise. In fact, it might make his life a hell of a lot easier.”

“Kid, you got me curious,” Bobby said. “Can't for the life of me think what you'd need with the head cowpoke.”

Dean smiled grimly. This was a grand, stupid gesture he was about to make, but it wasn't like he hadn't made them before. And, he'd finally figured something out. Sonny had been right about a few things. If he didn't take advantage of a good, warm home and a good, warm master, he was stupid. He was twenty-six years old, and he couldn't get much better than an alpha that wanted him for a reason as _pure_ as just needing to keep the home he loved. And, there were other good people to think about, too. What happened to Ellen and Meg and Bobby if the Novak family came in and took the house away from Castiel?

The ride was silent and tense, Dean trying to talk himself out of his own idiocy and failing. But, it was a sign when Bobby got them onto the main grasslands, because the guy he needed was already branding cattle.

And, that was when Bobby 'got it'.

“Oh, _hell_ , boy,” he whispered. “Is that why we're here?”

“I can't think of another damn thing that gives Castiel the most clout against his parents,” Dean said, waiting for Bobby to open the cart doors. “They can't challenge how serious he is or say he's putting on an act if I've got his house brand on my body. In fact, no one can take me away from Castiel if I'm branded. It's an old, old rule, and it's still on the books.”

Dean didn't _want_ taken from Castiel and his kindness, his generosity.

Bobby let him out, but immediately stood in his way without touching him. “Kid,” he said lowly. “That brand is made for goddamn _meat_. It's huge. Big as a tea saucer.”

“I know.” Dean lifted his eyebrows at him. “That's what's going to make it a real hard thing to get by, Bobby. It's not like I'm ever getting out of this, you know. You said it yourself. Tor-Valen is a good place to be. You warned me to wait awhile before I did anything half-cocked and stupid. Well, I waited three days.”

Bobby stared at him about six seconds before starting to smile. “All right,” he relented. “You have my silence. And, I'm sure Garth will keep his trap shut as well, if I ask him to.”

Dean waited to one side, because Garth was an alpha, but he watched the slender man's face grow more and more astonished as Bobby spoke to him.

“Ho-lee Shee-it!” Garth shouted after a moment. He craned his neck to look around Bobby at Dean. “Are you sure?”

Dean approached slowly. “Yes,” he answered simply. “You've already got the iron hot, so that's lucky.” He took off his cloak and began to work the ties on his shirt. “Will you keep this a secret for me, for Master Novak?”

“You a _ballsey_ omega,” Garth said, spitting to one side. “Yeah, I will. It's gonna hurt, though. You better take Bobby's belt between your teeth.”

Dean took off his shirt and handed it to Bobby, more than aware he now had the attention of two alpha males, and that he reeked of both nerves and determination. Bobby gave him his belt, and Dean folded it over.

“Where do you want it?” Garth asked, his voice gone quiet.

“Right between my shoulder blades, and just under where I'd get the mating bite,” Dean answered, turning around and bracing on a fence post. “Do it deep.” He could feel them both looking at all his scars. “Try to get it as perfect as you can, please. This is forever.”

Garth sighed. “All right. Bite down, feisty.”

It hurt, all right. But there was so much scar tissue that it hurt worse, because Garth had to burn through that tougher flesh. The smell of his own meat cooking made Dean gag, but he held still through the white-hot four seconds of branding. He didn't make a sound, and was fucking proud of that. When the pressure stopped, he spat out the belt and just sagged there on the fence to get his equilibrium back. He saw stars.

“That,” Garth said in a soft, awed voice, “was about the bravest thing I've ever seen. You didn't make a peep.”

“You got a clean strip of cloth and some of the master's honey?” Bobby asked.

“Yeah,” Garth said, and he went towards a little house to the left of a large barn.

Bobby made Dean walk with him back to the cart, and sat him down on the foot bar. “You're an idgit,” he said grandly. “Not that I think it's gonna happen, but if Novak were to ever reject you for any reason, you're hooped, Dean. No alpha would ever take you, not with that brand of ownership, and _especially_ not right there, where they'd have to look at it to bite you while mating!”

“I know,” Dean said, meeting his eyes. “But, you know what? My back was a mess anyway, and if he sends me away I'm just going feral. I never wanted an alpha in the first place, but he's different. He's _kind_. What's a brand, at the end of the day? He'll probably never even _see_ it, Bobby. He didn't buy me to fuck me and fill me full of babies. He just wants his parents to leave him the hell alone.”

Bobby threw his hands in the air and stomped off to hurry Garth.

Dean put his forehead against the cool wood of the cart, and took deep breaths. The brand hurt worse, now, like he had lightning trapped under his skin. Fuck. He jerked at feeling cool, sticky stuff going over the agony, and had to clench onto the cart when he felt cloth being applied and pressed.

“I know it hurts, kid, but that honey will speed up the healing.” Bobby helped him put on his shirt, then the cloak. Then, he gave him a small ball of foil, about the size of a pea. “You put that under your tongue and let it melt, and you won't care it hurts no more. I promise. Just try and keep your focus, because it's powerful stuff and you need to keep your wits.”

“What is it?” Dean unwrapped the ball and scraped the sticky, foul tasting stuff off with his teeth, letting it settle where Bobby told him to put it.

“Opium,” Bobby said. “We make that, too.”

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Oh, it was a horrible, horrible ride. Dean couldn't rest his back like he needed to, and sitting upright made his abs ache after awhile. Then, his lower back began hurting. The opium did help some, but not enough to let him forget for a minute what a stupid/smart thing he'd done.

Once at Crowley's, Bobby escorted Dean in. The tailor was alone, working over what looked to be a fancy, alpha tailcoat. He looked at them in surprise, straightening.

“Master Novak sent you a letter, but I had to precede it,” Dean told him. “He wants you for his personal tailor, and for you to live on the estate.” With effort, for it hurt his injury, Dean tossed him the bag of gold. “Two pounds now and ten when you get to the manor. The urgency is that his parents are coming, and I want you to work your magic on all of us, to show up Naomi Novak.”

Crowley weighed the bag by tossing it up and down a few times. “He wants me to be exclusive to him?”

“That's what I've come to think,” Dean said. “Otherwise he wouldn't want to house you.”

“Hmm.” Crowley looked up. “Not a hardship, that. More than a few steps up, actually.” He pocketed the gold. “Done. I'll have my boys pack up the shop and deliver it to Tor-Valen this evening. Did you come in person to bring me back?”

“I'd hoped,” Dean admitted.

“All right. Wait here for a few minutes while I arrange things.” Crowley vanished into the back of the store.

“This guy is really going to be useful?” Bobby asked doubtfully.

“He's very talented,” Dean answered. “I'm going to try to con him into replacing drapes and things, too. If Meg and Ellen manage to round up capable help for him, we can get this shit done in time.”

“Well, I'll ride one of the horses and put you both in the dog cart, then,” Bobby informed. “It's not going to look _too_ strange. Crowley probably knows how to drive a trap, so we'll give him the reins.”

Crowley returned about ten minutes later with a small bag. “Done,” he said. “My boys will start packing and delivering as soon as we're gone.”

“Great.” Dean led the way out and got back into the cart. He told himself it would just be another two hours before he could crawl off somewhere to lick his wounds. He'd arrive at Tor-Valen in just enough time to start a good supper for Castiel. And, it needed to be a good one, considering the bad news descending.

Not ten minutes into the drive, Crowley leaned to speak in his ear. “You work fast,” he said. “I got what I'd need to keep you dosed for a good long while.” He patted his bag. “Now, why don't you tell me what's happened to your back?”

“I did something to it,” Dean said, gritting his teeth afterward. “It hurts to have it against the back rest.”

“Marvelous job of evasion,” Crowley praised. “All right, don't tell me. But, if you need a painkiller that _doesn't_ make your eyes like holes, which they currently are, come to me before bedtime and I'll dose you. I expect I need to make friends with the house cook first, eh?”

“That might be wise. Just don't underestimate her, and don't lie to her,” Dean advised.

“Darling, I don't have any reason to lie. As long as I'm clever enough to conceal my other talents, no questions will come up.” He shrugged his shoulder at Dean. “We're in the woodland lanes now, so no one will see if you lean against me. I'll brace you by the arm a bit. That ought to help.”

Dean did as advised, falling into an unpleasant stupor. He was so grateful to see Tor-Valen looming ahead that he felt his eyes prickling. When Bobby let him out, Dean left the man to do the introductions for Crowley. Meg would take over, get Crowley settled, he knew. He went straight for the kitchen, finding Ellen hard at work.

“We're getting it all done as I speak to you,” Ellen said. “Charlie moved your clothes to the master's room. She's up there in the empty room now, spraying it down with vinegar cleanser and wiping the walls. We'll burn some incense in there every night until the royals arrive, and it ought to be safe. Also, the mattress is being aired outside, under shelter. We won't drag it back in until the day after tomorrow.”

“That's good news,” Dean said. Stiffly, he went into the pantry for a look at what to make for Castiel. “I brought Crowley back with me,” he said when he returned. He'd decided to make a soup his mother used to make for him. He'd been very young, but he remembered helping her cook. “Do you have any beef broth, Ellen?” His mother had used vegetable, but why not take advantage of wealth, here?

“I do,” she said. She opened the oven to show Dean she had about seven beef roasts cooking at once. “How much do you need, dear?”

“About two quarts,” Dean said. He got celery and carrots, and began cleaning them. The heat in the kitchen made his back nothing but agony. It took all his willpower to move his arms, because that stretched the abused skin. “I'm going to need one large biscuit.”

“Dean, it's like you're on my vibe,” Ellen said, showing him a soldierly line up of baskets of already made biscuits.

Dean managed a smile. He set the broth in a large pot, and added his vegetables, plus a cup of barley and some chopped onion. He started smelling spices to see if any struck him as harmonious with the flavors he could already smell. “Meg... Is she going to break the news to Castiel?”

“I expect her to be doing so any minute,” Ellen said. “He's due back within the hour. We should hear her intercept him in the cellar, if you open the trap door next to the pantry threshold.”

Dean opened the trap door and draped a burlap cloth over it to make the light less noticeable, gaining a nod of approval from Ellen. He dumped some red spice into the soup.

“That's paprika,” Ellen informed. “Try some curry. It's the the one with the yellow stained lid.”

Dean did as she said.

“Now, bay leaves,” Ellen suggested.

Dean knew what those were. He put in three.

“Maybe garlic?” Ellen asked.

Dean thought a little wouldn't hurt. He was going for something savory and filling, something that would slow Castiel down and hopefully help him to sleep. He crushed two cloves and stirred them into the soup, which already smelled amazing.

“Add a little bit of brown sugar to take the bite off all the strong spices,” Ellen said after sampling the fare.

Dean was sweating now, not because of heat, but from the pain it was causing.

They stilled their movements as motion and sound came up through the floor.

“Sir?” Meg said. “I have some bad news.”

“Is Dean all right?” Castiel asked quickly.

Dean felt a swell of fondness that made the pain in his back abate remarkably.

“Yes, sir, Dean's fine. He's upstairs,” Meg said. “This is about your parents.”

“Oh, _sweet Lord_ , they're on their way, aren't they?” Castiel asked. “I half expected it. They'll want to look at Dean.”

“Yes,” Meg agreed. “But, I'm pretty sure we've got things under control. I've got people on the task of cleaning the house, and Crowley is already here. He's replacing the drapes and table runners right now, as his people deliver his bolts. He says he'll be through with that by morning, and he has pre-made outfits that he can quickly tailor to most of us to sharpen our look.” Meg paused. “There is another aspect to our plan, one that I want you to think seriously about.”

Dean heard Castiel heave a sigh. “Meg, it's just easier to let them have the run of the place,” he said. “I don't mind at all making myself as scarce as possible.”

“I know, sir, but Dean has refused.”

Silence.

“Well, I'm _not_ putting Dean out of his room,” Castiel said. “My parents will just have to endure each other in mine, or take the other wing. I never intended-.”

“Sir,” Meg said, gently interrupting. “Dean has refused to allow the elder Novaks to evict _you_ ,” she said carefully. “He ordered that we move his things to your room, and I think he has a good idea, there.”

Dean quietly stirred the soup, waiting breathlessly with his ears strained. Beside him, Ellen put a hand on his shoulder, also concentrating, her body and eyes going still with anticipation.

“Meg,” Castiel said. “You look afraid. Why do you look afraid?”

“Because, I don't want you to nay-say this,” Meg told him. “Having Dean in your own room solidifies the appearance that he's _yours_.”

Even from his faraway position, Dean heard Castiel's inhale of understanding.

“Oh,” Castiel said. After a few seconds he added, “I suppose this is Dean's way of telling me that he accepts my proposal?”

“Yes, sir, I believe so,” Meg agreed. “He's very willing to help you keep the manor.”

“Oh, _thank God_ ,” Castiel said. “I'd hoped he would. He's very nice, and he's thoughtful, and I wanted a chance to be a good influence for him. I'm attached to his presence already. Did you know he made me a wonderful supper last night? I'd never had granola before. With cherries and yogurt.” He was rambling now, spewing his words nervously and unthinkingly. “Come to think of it, I promised to eat supper because of him. I wonder what he'll make tonight?”

As Dean locked worried eyes with Ellen, he heard Meg snapping her fingers briskly, three times. “Sir, take a deep breath,” she urged. “Slow down. That's it, breathe.”

Silence, with the occasional hiccup.

“My apologies, Meg. Just the thought of having _them_ here is enough to send me packing. I love and respect my parents, but every time we meet up I'm being bullied to find a wife or husband they'll approve of, and I just don't know what exactly that is.”

“At the risk of being indelicate, sir, I don't think anyone likes it when they get your parents' focus.”

Castiel gave a broken but genuine little laugh. “Would you make sure the cheese is put away, Meg? I'm going to hole up in my bedroom with a bottle of wine or three. Maybe one of these days I'll learn not to be as high strung as a race horse, but that's not going to be today, after all.”

“I'd be happy to,” Meg said gently. “You let us take care of things, okay? Go try to relax. Your parents aren't evil. I'll have Charles and Wilkes bring hot water up for a bath in twenty minutes. You need one, so don't argue.”

“Yes, thank you, Meg,” Castiel said.

Ellen very, very quietly lowered the trap door, leaving the burlap sack wedged in there. She then dragged a pickle barrel over that. “I hope it doesn't put you off that the master is emotional,” she said, not looking at Dean. “It's not my place to talk about why he's like that, but I'm sure you can guess.”

Dean clenched his jaw a moment. “ _Everyone_ is the way they are because of their parents,” he replied. “I'm glad he has Meg. He knew what he was doing, putting her in charge.”

“Yes. Meg is very competent, and though she wouldn't want it commented upon, she does care.” Ellen checked Dean's progress with the soup, and went back to her own work.

Dean finished, and ladled the soup over the broken biscuit into a deep bowl. He put it on the tray designated for Castiel's use, adding a spoon and napkin. “Will he have a freak out if I come in there while he's in the tub?”

“I highly doubt it,” Ellen said dryly. “He's not really aware he has a body unless he's using it to beat the immortal shit out of someone. It's why the bees won't attack him, why he can walk straight through the path of wild dogs and not get a single growl.” She got Dean a glass of cold water and put it on the tray. “Don't you want a bowl of this for yourself, dear?”

“I couldn't eat a bite,” Dean reported, and he hefted the tray.

 

* * *

 

 

Dean knocked softly.

“Come in,” Castiel called out.

Dean entered, and shut the door. He nearly staggered as Castiel's scent came to him in waves of hot steam. Oh, that was incredible. Just incredible. He took a few breaths through his mouth for hardening his resolve.

“Is that you, Dean?” Castiel asked. “It's hard to see with all this steam.”

“Yes, it's me,” Dean answered. “I brought you some dinner.”

“Well, I can't promise to eat all of it, but I'll try,” Castiel told him. “Actually, I've embarked upon a mission to drown out my higher thought with wine.”

Dean smiled. “Hey, I asked you to be my taster,” he reminded, walking closer. “I'm not going to complain if you skip a meal when you live up to your end and just _taste_.”

“You're very kind to let me live up to the letter of the law and not the spirit,” Castiel rumbled.

Dean almost dropped the tray at the sight of Castiel in his bath. The water was too milky to see much other than Castiel's upper body and knees, but that was enough. The man who looked so slender in his suits and working clothes was strapped with muscle, bulging with it. His arm, crooked up to get the neck of a bottle to his full, beautiful lips, had a very defined bicep. And, because he had his head turned to drink, Dean saw every cord in that long neck. Castiel was pale like a pearl, gleaming and smooth and hairless. He shattered every ideal about being an alpha, and it was _perfect_ on him.

Dean stood beside of him, and got up a spoonful of soup. “Taste,” he said, and Castiel quit drinking in order to open his mouth like an obedient child about to get medicine. It gave Dean a terrible, shuddering case of fascination to insert a spoon between those lips. And, when Castiel closed his eyes in pleasure, Dean's throat went dry.

“Oh, that's very good,” Castiel praised. “That goes on my list of acceptable foods, Dean. Why don't you eat it?”

“My stomach's a bit rebellious,” Dean admitted. He set the tray on the chest of drawers. “What with everyone around here in a fettle about your parents, it's put me off eating.”

“My parents are enough to put a starving pig off his slop,” Castiel said in a desultory fashion, and it tore a laugh from Dean.

Dean got a chair, bringing it close to the tub. He sat, and looked down at Castiel's riot of damp hair, his gleaming eyes, and his determination to drink his troubles away. “You aren't upset that all my things are in here,” he said.

“No, because it means you're going to help me keep my house, which is worth just about any price, and you aren't bad company,” Castiel replied. “I'll warn you now, I thrash and have nightmares.”

“I'm used to sleeping in a room with eleven other people, sometimes more, so I doubt it matters,” Dean told him. “If you manage to not elbow me in the face at night, it's all golden.” He glanced down at the water. “I can't smell soap or anything, so why is your water so milky?”

“Because it does have milk in it,” Castiel answered, sighing. “Charlie dehydrates it, and ties a packet of the stuff to a bucket when the men are bringing me water to bathe. She tells me I have to use it, so I do. Something about exfoliation, and balancing out skin acids. I've been obeying her on it for years.”

“Well, she must be right, because your skin is the healthiest I've ever seen,” Dean told him. “You look like a big, person-shaped, sanded pearl in there.”

Castiel, in the middle of big drink of wine, choked on a laugh and sprayed Dean, which made Dean laugh, too. And, Castiel had been about to apologize for the wine spit when he saw it didn't bother Dean a bit, so he chuckled. “Well, thank you, Dean, I suppose,” he said, smiling.

Dean had a look at the glass bottles sitting on the floor beside the tub. One had slightly soapy contents. Dean swished his fingers in the bathwater to rinse them, and tried the bottle of pink stuff. That was slick and moisturizing between his fingers, and probably conditioner. He got up and dumped Castiel's ice water into his washing bowl, bringing back the empty glass. “What are you wearing to bed?” He asked.

“I usually don't wear anything, but I can't do that to you, so I suppose a light pair of sleep trousers,” Castiel answered.

Dean shivered. He went to the chest of drawers, opening one drawer after another until finding a pair of off white, silk trousers. He placed them within easy reach.

“I don't expect you to wait on me, Dean,” Castiel said gently.

“Allow me to, anyway,” Dean replied. “It's not a hardship to coddle a man who never demands it.” He dipped the drinking glass into the bathwater and went to stand behind Castiel. “Relax,” he said, covering Castiel's eyes, feeling those incredibly long lashes fluttering to close against his palm and fingers. He eased Castiel's head back slightly, and poured the water over that riot of dark hair.

Castiel sat still as Dean soaped his head. He clumsily put the wine bottle down on the floor, and with a long, drawn out groan, completely relaxed into the experience of being shampooed. “Oh, _Dean_...”

Dean smiled, feeling smug. “Doesn't it feel good when someone else does this?” He asked, digging his short nails into Castiel's scalp. “And before you ask, yes. Yes, it's part of my training. I hope that doesn't cast a pall on the party.”

“No, do carry on,” Castiel murmured.

Dean laughed shortly. He made sure to scrape every part of Castiel's scalp, knowing it would revitalize him a little. He reached past his shoulder, rinsed his hands again, and refilled the drinking glass. “Sit up a little bit,” he urged. “Tilt your head back.”

Again, he covered Castiel's eyes, and rinsed. It took only four pourings to rid him of soap. Dean guided him back to rest against the tub. A glob of conditioner went in that pretty hair. He rubbed it in with less vigor than he'd done with the shampoo. “You rest and drink,” he said, sitting back down. “That will have to be on your head at least five minutes.”

Castiel gave Dean a mild and woozy eyeballing, but he drank. He emptied the bottle, so Dean pulled the cork on another, and gave it over.

“Simple pleasures,” Castiel said after a third of the wine had went into his stomach. “They're the hardest ones to forgo, aren't they?”

“And, that's the entire sum of my training,” Dean announced. “Any man can pass up a fancy meal, except for a starving man. You, my unusual alpha, aren't starving for sex, or pride, or even dominance. No, you want simplicity and plain dealing. Honesty. That's why the prospect of your parent's arrival is so hard. They are, apparently, meddlesome. The exact opposite of you.”

Castiel tilted his head, and met Dean's eyes straight-on. “It didn't take you long to figure it all out.”

“I'd say it's a survival skill to figure stuff out fast, but I think I've always been quick,” Dean said, smiling.

Castiel smiled before huffing a laugh. “Were you always charming, too?”

Dean clicked his teeth at him, and stood up. “Of course.” He dipped the glass into the water. “Let's get you rinsed off so you can quit the stew pot, okay?”

“Yes, please,” Castiel said, arranging himself for the rinse and trustingly putting his head back.

And that was another thing about Castiel, Dean thought as he thoroughly rid him of conditioner. He responded like for like. If you were kind to him, you got kindness back.

Dean got a towel, spreading it out just below eye level. This had been taught to him as a way to keep an alpha assured that all the sexual overtures were up to him, that the omega wouldn't be able to see his genitals. And, really, that would make _anyone_ feel better, not being ogled.

Castiel got out, and Dean wrapped the towel around his waist. He got another, draping it over his shoulders without touching him. Then, he dragged the plush chair over to the fire, and pointed. “You relax and keep warm while I have the tub drained, okay?” He pulled the cord for the servant bell, knowing they'd understand why they were being summoned.

“Try to make it fast and not let his heat out,” Dean ordered the men. They nodded, and went to work. In ten minutes they were done, even to the maid wiping the tub out with neutral spirits.

Dean built up the fire while Castiel sat in silence, drinking. Wanting Castiel to have his quiet time, Dean didn't push himself upon the man. He took his tray back downstairs, leaving it for either someone else to clean up, or for his own duty in the morning. But, he snitched more water and bread, packing it in a little basket.

Then, Dean discovered he had to take a trip to the outdoor privy. It actually gave him a sense of relief twice over, for he'd started to think he had something wrong him. With greatest pleasure he cleaned up, and returned to Castiel's room.

Castiel was dressed in his trousers, finishing the last of the wine. Dean put his chamber pot within easy shot, and turned back the bed covers. These sheets were amazingly soft and smooth. Dean's rough hands dragged on them slightly. He fluffed the feather pillows and stood back. When Castiel sat on the edge of the bed, Dean put the pitcher and bowl down and cleaned his feet so he wouldn't track house dust between the sheets. Castiel watched him the entire time.

Dean dried him off, and held the blankets up. Castiel obediently got in and shut his eyes, sighing.

Making short work of cleaning his own feet, Dean got into bed, too. He couldn't very well undress, not with a wound on his back.

Castiel fell asleep before Dean even got comfortable in the big bed. But, Dean soon joined him.

 

* * *

 

 

A cold snap settled in that night. Dean got up twice to rebuild the fire to keep them both comfortable. In the wee hours of the morning, with Castiel still sleeping, Dean changed his clothes and headed downstairs. He was the first in the kitchen, amazingly. He raked ashes from the cook stoves and fireplace, carried them out to the ash dump, and returned to stoke the fires to full.

At five o'clock Ellen still hadn't appeared to start cooking for everyone, so Dean did some calculations, thought about how much he'd seen her make for everyone, and just started without her. He hoped she wasn't sick.

Dean roasted buckwheat, like he'd seen his mother do, and poured leftover beef broth atop it when it was dry. He threw in sliced mushrooms, then clamped the pot lids down. While that cooked, he made his mother's unleavened flat bread, and chopped onions. This took the most time, more than an hour. He grated cheese, worried about Ellen but unable to go look for her. He didn't know which cabin was hers, and someone had to get food ready.

Meg came in as he made the roll-ups of beef strips, kashi, mushrooms, onions and cheese, and he pounced on her verbally. “Have you seen Ellen?”

“No, I thought she was here,” Meg said. “I'll find her. Carry on.”

Dean made thirty of the roll-ups and carried them out to the breakfast table, where the servants stared at his offering. “Just eat it,” he snapped, worried about his friend. “Ellen's not here, and I did the best I could!” He practically flounced back to the kitchen to made thirty more of the things, setting on the coffee afterward.

When he took out the next load, he was surprised to see everyone eagerly awaiting more of the roll-ups. No sooner had he got the platter down, people were fighting each other to get one. They emptied the platter, and Dean carried it back into the kitchen, wondering. He made the last of them, reserved two for Ellen and two for Castiel, then delivered the rest.

Meg came in with a very sick and tired looking Ellen in tow just as Dean was about to start shouting the house down with worry. “I'm so sorry, Dean,” Ellen whispered as Meg sat her at the prep table. “My husband and I got a bad batch of cider, and spent the entire night vomiting. I passed out in the privy. I should have known better than to drink town swill.”

“I'm just glad you're alive,” Dean said, meaning it. “Would a hot cup of tea help?”

“The chamomile might,” she whispered.

Dean offered the two roll-ups he'd saved for Ellen to Meg, since she hadn't eaten and he'd forgotten about her. He put water on to boil, found the chamomile flowers, and spooned a good portion into a large mug.

“What's this?” Meg asked.

“Mary Winchester's Winter Meat Rolls,” Dean said, off the cuff. “Just call 'em roll-ups.” He grabbed the remaining two and set them on a warm part of the stove to keep them fresh while he made the herbal infusion. He stuck his head out to the servant's dining room. “Anyone need more coffee?”

A few people held their mugs up, so Dean came out and poured for them. “Ellen's okay, just sick to her stomach,” he told the room. “Leave your plates. I'll get them. We're gonna be busy today.”

He was thanked profusely.

Dean came back to pour Ellen's not-tea, adding a spoonful of locust honey before setting it in front of her. “You drink this, and go to bed,” he ordered. “I'll keep the meals rolling today. Just get better.”

“Dean, thank you." Ellen hunched over her cup, looking miserable. “I worried, because I made too much roast, and it was going to go bad if I didn't figure something out.”

“It's covered,” Dean said. He made another large measure of the chamomile infusion, and poured it into a metal urn while toasting bread. He layered it all into a basket, covering it with a cloth. “Meg, can you take her back to hubby with this?”

Meg smiled a very strange smile. “Yeah, I can and I will,” she said pleasantly. She hooked the basket in her elbow, and helped Ellen get up. “I'll be back in an hour.”

Dean barely paid attention. He snagged a random maid named Alisha, and gave her Castiel's breakfast, telling her to knock, open the door, and leave it within his reach. Then, he attacked the breakfast chaos. That took well over an hour of hardcore washing, putting away, and cleaning. By that time he had to worry about lunch.

He set all the leftover roasts out on the prep table. Half of them he sliced thin, the others he chunked up to use for dinner. The platters went into the clean sink, and he groaned at the amount of work that lay ahead of him today. The dinner meat he put back into cold storage. The stuff he'd sliced, he threw into a large pot. He added water, a good smelling vinegar that was labeled 'magnolia', ground white pepper and lemon peel shards. It seemed as good a marinade as any.

Dean went to the cellar to get vegetables. He brought back tomatoes, watercress, spinach and sweet onions, spending the next hour making salads on metal plates, carrying them to the ice blocks in the back where he sat them to keep chilled. When he heard people start coming in, he drained the meat for adding it atop the salads. Finely, he grated a white cheese over top. With all the plates lined up on the prep table, Dean opened the dividing door to the dining room and stood there. He knew he had to look a sight. “Come in and get your plates,” he said. “All I've got is water to drink, but I can make up for that at supper.” He then stood back, letting everyone come in to grab food and forks.

Meg returned through the back door, took one look at him, and pointed to a chair. “Dean, you will sit down before you fall.”

“I have dishes,” he protested.

“Sit.”

Dean sat.

Meg took her coat off, and rolled up her sleeves. She poured Dean two glasses. One of wine, and one of cold water. “You aren't to get up from that chair until both of those are in your belly,” she ordered, and with that she began to wash the dirty platters. “You're nervous, and a new cook. Nothing is so serious that our people can't eat the granola sticks, and be thankful.”

Dean drank the wine first. It mellowed him out a little. His heart stopped thundering in panic. He'd wanted to do a good job so that Ellen wouldn't worry, but maybe she really was resting now, and wouldn't know she'd left her kitchen in the hands of an untried maniac.

“Ellen and Bill are in bed. I poured out that cider. It wasn't even hard cider.” Meg shook her head in disgust. “This is why the stuff we make here gets boiled. Raw cider is asking for sickness. I can't really blame them, though, because the raw does taste better.”

Dean drank his water. “I've never had either,” he admitted.

Crowley came in with his arms full of dirty salad plates. He put them into the sink while glancing at Dean. “Well, sunshine,” he said. “A top-notch breakfast and lunch, but you look done in. How's your back?”

“It hurts,” Dean reported. And, it really, really did.

“Well, I'm caught up with clothing you all for at least an hour, so I'll help out, here,” he said cheerfully.

“Thanks, Crowley,” Dean said. He was already thinking of making his mother's shepherd's pie for supper. “And thanks, Meg.”

“Not an issue, Dean. Butlering has the advantage of designating authority for what needs done.” Meg moved over so Crowley could rinse.

Dean hauled himself back downstairs to get more vegetables. He'd need a bushel basket of potatoes, more onions, carrots, and celery. It amazed him Ellen spent every day like this. But then, she probably planned everything ahead of time, carrying up all she'd need every morning. He returned in time to see Bobby hauling in more plates. If Meg and Crowley hadn't been there to do the dishes, he might have screamed. Instead, he sat down with bowls, peelers and knives, and began cleaning his veggies.

A young blonde woman came in with what Dean hoped was the last of the plates, stacking them to Meg's left. She looked at Dean, and smiled. “Thanks for taking care of my parents,” she said. “I'll try to get the rest of the game we're going to need for the Novak's stay, and I'll be back to help you clean up the supper things, okay?”

Dean nodded to her. “Thanks...?”

“Jo,” she told him. Giving him one last smile, she left.

“Our resident hunter,” Meg informed after Jo left. “She's the one who's responsible for the wild meat. We'll have venison, rabbit and wild turkey to serve the Novak twosome.”

“Beta?” Dean asked.

“Alpha,” Meg corrected. “You can't smell her because she's got the smell of the wild on her. She doesn't live with Ellen and Jo. Year-round, Jo lives in a tent. I think she's _insane_.”

“Amazing,” Crowley murmured. “So, Bill is an alpha?”

“Yeah. He's our trapper and general groundskeeper.” Meg swept the last of the dishes into the soapy water. “You could rightly say that the Harvelle family is the reason we all eat.”

Dean remembered Castiel, then, and stood up to wash his hands. “I need to get Master Novak's breakfast tray, and to check on him,” he said. “I'll be right back.”

Dean practically sprinted up the stairs. He didn't knock, just carefully eased the door open. Castiel lay flat on his back, still in his nightclothes, asleep in a mess of covers. But, he'd eaten. His scent was darker, and heady while sleeping. Dean took a few appreciative sniffs before quietly taking the tray and going back to the kitchen.

“He's still asleep?” Meg asked in surprise. “And, he ate breakfast?”

“He was tired,” Dean defended. “And yeah, he didn't eat his supper, so when he woke up he probably _had_ to eat.”

“Well, better go get the chamber pot. Take him up a pitcher of ice water, and a pitcher of washing up water,” Meg suggested.

Dean went back. He found the chamber pot full, and kind of smiled. Castiel would be _so_ dehydrated when he finally stirred. He dumped the thing in the outdoor privy closest to the kitchen, and washed it at the hand pump before coming back in to clean his hands a second time. Meg already had the two pitchers ready, so he stuck the chamber pot under his arm and carefully made his way back to Castiel's room.

Still asleep.

Dean replaced the pot, set the ice water on the bed stand, and put the washing pitcher and bowl on the wash stand. He tip-toed out, and returned to duty once more.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

The shepherd's pie went over so well that not a smidgen of it was left. Dean had help cleaning up everything, and at six he was sitting alone in a clean, warm kitchen. Tired, he raked out ashes again, and built up the fires enough that they'd have hot coals to begin with in the morning. He hadn't seen Castiel since taking him water, and wondered where he'd gone.

Dean's mother had taught him to read and write, and do basic math. He needed paper, and quill and ink to take inventory of the pantry, so he went to Castiel's room and sneaked in. The alpha of Tor-Valen was nowhere to be found. Instead, Charlie was there, cleaning up the room. “Hello, Dean,” she greeted, looking and sounding as tired as himself. “I am so sick of cleaning.”

“Trust me, I know,” Dean said. He took two sheets of paper, found an extra quill, and a new bottle of ink. “I'm going back to the kitchen to inventory what we've used, what we might need, and to plan tomorrow's meals. Ellen might not be better by then.”

“Well, everyone loved your food today,” Charlie informed as she layered sheets onto Castiel's bed. “The roll-up things actually had people fighting. See, flat bread is peasant food, which most of us are, and Ellen makes leavened bread because it's something Castiel expects. So, getting all that yummy, decadent filler inside the bread that reminded them of their mothers? Yeah, that was good.”

“I'm glad,” Dean said. “I didn't think the salad would please them, but the shepherd's pie did.”

“We all loved the salad, trust me.” Charlie fluffed the pillows, and began putting on the quilts. “Whatever you did to the beef was magic. And yeah, the pie was delicious. Ellen is a quality cook, but she doesn't think about the poor people meals because she's been trained her whole life to make food for the upper class. And, in any other house, only upper class people would get what she makes, right?”

“Yeah.” Dean had thought about that. Castiel let everyone eat what he should be eating, skipped most of his meals, and had to be persuaded to eat at all. “Where _is_ the master of the house, anyway?”

“He left shortly before two to deal with some legal issue in town,” Charlie answered. “Probably your...”

“My writ of ownership to breed,” Dean finished for her. “It's a formality to him, but helps him keep the house.” He was determined not to think about it like real ownership, because Castiel didn't see it as such. “Almost as good as a wedding.”

Charlie shrugged, and tried to smile. But, the topic was a bad one, and she looked just exhausted.

Dean went down and spent a long two hours doing inventory, planning tomorrow's meals. He'd make pancakes and sausage for breakfast, butternut squash soup for lunch, with bread, and chicken and dumplings for supper. He brought all the ingredients up from the basement that he'd need, arranging them in specific areas in the kitchen, then cut up some apples and pitted some cherries. He'd feed something to Castiel tonight, at some point.

Dean made a cream cheese and brown sugar fruit dip, and put the bowl on a large platter. He arranged the fruit around it, then got a large bottle of the delicious wine everyone liked, including him. Weary to the core, he took it upstairs. He let himself into Castiel's bedroom with only a warning knock. The clock struck nine as he passed over the threshold.

Castiel was face down asleep at his table, legal papers scattered all around him. Dean quietly put the food and wine down on Castiel's chest of drawers, and searched for a clean shirt for himself. He found one, and a pair of sleep trousers, then headed to the nearest barn in search of Bobby.

Bobby, it seemed, knew he'd need him. The older man pointed to a clean bale of hay, held up a new bandage and jar of honey, and grunted a greeting. “It's about time,” he grumped. “Another day and I'd have come to get you. You can't wear the same old bandage around.”

Dean pulled off his shirt, wincing when Bobby peeled the old gauze free. It stuck, slightly.

“Well, hot damn,” Bobby said. “It doesn't look bad at all. Too deep to blister?”

“Is that possible?” Dean asked.

“I don't know.” Bobby washed him with cool water, sloshed some kind of antiseptic over the burn, which hurt like hell. Then, he put new honey on, and the new bandage. Kindly, he helped Dean get his stiff arms into his shirt. “You must be worn out, kid. Why don't you go to bed now?”

“I'm working on that,” Dean promised. He thanked him, and went back to Castiel's room, dragging his heels. Castiel was still asleep, so Dean put on his clean pants and opened a bottle of wine. Castiel awakened at hearing the cork pull free, and Dean laughed even though it took energy.

“Castiel,” Dean said, letting the man orient on where he was.

“Dean.” Castiel leaned on the backrest of his chair, and yawned, politely covering his mouth. “What is it tonight?”

“Fruit,” Dean told him. He poured Castiel a glass of cold wine, taking it to him. “Long day?”

“Lawyers,” Castiel muttered. “Why couldn't the environmental apocalypse wipe them out, too?”

“Because they're like cockroaches?” Dean suggested. He put the fruit platter on top of the probably very important papers.

The smile he got for his answer was a good reward for putting forth some effort.

Dean turned the covers back on the bed. “So, you own me now? Are we able to move forward?”

“You make it sound so casual,” Castiel said. He absently dipped an apple slice into the fruit dip, lifted it, and bit down. “Oh,” he said in surprise. “This is delicious!” He took a sip of wine, looking more animated.

“Cream cheese, brown sugar and vanilla,” Dean said. “Mom gave it to me when I'd been good. She'd just started to feed it to Sammy when she...” No, he wouldn't talk about this. Not now.

“Sammy?”

“My brother,” Dean said shortly. He wiped his feet off, and got in bed. No way would he be awake more than ten minutes.

“Where is your brother now?” Castiel asked softly.

“I don't know.” Dean didn't even know where his old house was, exactly. He'd been dragged to Sonny's in a sack. The journey had taken two days or more. He wouldn't know because his father had drugged him. “Make sure you eat as much as you can, Castiel. You can't keep skipping meals all the time.” He yawned. It then occurred to Dean that he himself hadn't eaten a fucking thing all day, except for wine and water. Well, it didn't matter. He was too tired to chew.

“You smell like spices,” Castiel said just as Dean was about to fall asleep.

 

* * *

 

 

Dean managed to get up twice in the night to stoke the fire. At four thirty, he dressed, and went downstairs to start cooking. Meg came in a while later, bleary-eyed and rumpled, telling Dean that Ellen would be able to take over at lunch time. He thanked her, gave her the first measure of pancakes and sausage, and she ate in the kitchen with him while he cooked. It was nice and companionable.

Crowley volunteered to serve everyone, and Dean could have kissed him. While the hoards ate, Dean devoured a plum. When the dirty dishes came back, Crowley helped him wash. He, too, did work in silence. Tension was high in the house. The Novaks would arrive the day after tomorrow.

He was exhausted, so exhausted, but Dean knew he had to bathe. He locked the kitchen so no one could get in, and filled a huge zinc tub with hot water. He used the strong dish soap to clean himself, making his skin reek of lemons. He cleaned out the tub, dressed in his old clothes, tidied the kitchen, and gave it a mental farewell. He had to sleep some more or he'd be no good to put on a show for Castiel's parents.

Castiel was still in bed. Dean looked down at him, just for a second feeling irritated. Lazy rich boy. But then, Castiel rolled over onto his back, and Dean looked down at that face. How could he be mad at that face? Castiel had no idea what went on while he tended to the financial affairs of his estate, or what Dean had been going through. And, Castiel wasn't lazy, either.

Dean got into the bed and almost instantly fell asleep.

He didn't know how long he'd slept, when he awakened, and just lay there, listening. Evening birdsong came to him dimly, along with the scratching of a pen on paper. Then, he heard a man's voice that wasn't Castiel's.

“Your parents will want a verification of the omega's virginity,” the man said.

Dean managed not to tense up or appear awake, but it was hard.

“I will cut off the fingers of anyone who attempts to verify Dean's purity,” Castiel said in a voice so cold and awful that Dean's flesh erupted in goosebumps. “He isn't any more or less valuable to me no matter what his state, or his sexual history.”

“So you say, but some assurances have to be made that he bears your children, not someone else's,” the man replied. “I know of this omega's history. He's been bought and sold and thrown back more times than I can confirm.”

“Stop referring to him by his birth designation,” Castiel ordered. “His name is Dean Winchester. He has a brother. He's kind and patient and generous.”

A paper crackled.

“Sir, I know you aren't exactly... conventional, when it comes to your status, but-.”

“Erikson, if you persist in making personal commentary about me or Dean while we conduct business, I'll be forced to find a new lawyer,” Castiel said tightly. “Do I tell you how to feel, or what to do?”

“No, sir,” the man relented. “I'm only telling you what to expect when your parents arrive, you know.”

“Yes, and I don't need a dry run,” Castiel snapped. “I'll contact you when it's time for the ceremony.”

“Sir, I must ask, so please don't throw me out,” Erikson said meekly. “What sort of jewelry will you put on him to show he's yours? A collar isn't vogue anymore because of a new trend in showing the omeg- I mean, the _mate's_ bite marks. A ring is too far above status.”

“Dean is not a pet,” Castiel said in a low, dangerous voice. “Everyone will know I took him into my home, so why must I demean him with ridiculous, useless things like collars and rings?”

“I'll speak to you about this later,” Erikson promised.

“Don't count on it. Show yourself out.”

Dean continued to feign sleep as Castiel got back into bed, huffing. Muttering under his breath, Castiel arranged the covers to suit himself, and got on his side to face Dean.

The moments ticked by. Dean faked sleep for so long he actually began to drift off, but he jerked when a knock came at Castiel's door. He opened his eyes to see Castiel looking at him with a world-weary kind of resignation.

“I would give anything,” Castiel whispered to him, blue eyes so earnest and intimate, “if only I could hide away in the deepest part of the woods with nothing but a loincloth around my privates, and a hive of bees to feed me.” He sat up, then. “Come in,” he said.

To Dean's surprise, and Castiel's, too, Crowley was the one who entered. He had a tray under his arm and a roll of measuring tape balanced on his shoulder.

“Sorry to intrude,” he said. He put the tray down on the bed. “Ellen sent up this yogurt and granola dish for you, Master Novak, and the chicken dumplings and herbal tea for Dean.” His eyes met Dean's briefly. “Drink the tea first,” he suggested. “While you eat, I'm going to be taking inventory of all your clothes, and measuring your windows. Don't mind me.”

Dean understood in a flash that Crowley had made him more heat suppressant. He grabbed the mug and made quick work of drinking the odd tasting stuff. It gave him a lot of comfort to know Crowley was watching out for him, truly. But, his stomach squirmed like it had snakes in it, and he couldn't eat.

“How did you get here so quickly?” Castiel asked as he ate his food.

Crowley paused in examining the clothes. “Dean knew you couldn't waste any time, so he and Bobby retrieved me right at my shop.”

“Dean, you didn't tell me you went out of your way like that,” Castiel said. “That was a lot of bother.”

“It was just a trip to town,” Dean defended. “You had stuff to take care of, so I helped.”

“Well, I do appreciate it,” Castiel told him, sighing. “The manor looks very nice now, what with Crowley's new drapes and runners.”

“Cheers,” Crowley said, smirking slightly.

Castiel threw him a look of reluctant humor. “I have no idea why I like you,” he said.

“Because, plain facts and sewing wizardry blend into my beautiful self so brilliantly,” Crowley replied, leering.

All three of them laughed a little bit.

Crowley came over with the dark green kimono Dean liked so much. He held it up to Dean's face for a moment. “You need a whole wardrobe in this color,” he mused. “It brings out those pretty eyes.”

“I'd blush, but for all I know you're having one over on me,” Dean said, unimpressed.

“Fine.” Crowley jerked his head at Castiel. “Tell him, sir.”

Castiel looked at Dean, and, the strip of green kimono. “Actually, he's right, Dean,” he said slowly.

“Okay.” Dean was willing to take Castiel's word for it. “My eyes are green.”

Both Crowley and Castiel were staring at him, now. Dean began to feel self-conscious.

“Dean,” Crowley said with deliberate casualness. “Would you please be a dear, and take the trays downstairs? Ellen asked me to, but I'm going to be busy here longer than she'll wait for them.”

Dean smelled a rat. But, he got up and collected all the dirty stuff. “You've helped me enough that it would be a poor showing if I didn't walk some trays down for you,” he said, and he left.

Ellen startled at seeing him instead of Crowley, but recovered, and smiled at him broadly. “Dear, you've not only fed the masses in my absence, but fed them well. And, my kitchen is so clean!”

“I may have succumbed to overkill in my panic,” Dean said.

Ellen smiled, and took the trays. “I see you even made... inventory? Thank you.”

“If you feel better, it was worth it.” Dean sat on the prep table. Thankfully, Ellen hadn't noticed he hadn't touched the dumplings. “I'll help with breakfast in the morning, but I thought I'd make a trip out with Charlie and Bobby tomorrow, so I might not be back in time to do more than make Castiel's supper.”

“I like hearing you use his name,” Ellen murmured. “That's perfectly fine, dear. Are you going into town?”

Yes, Dean had to go into town to do what needed done. And, he dreaded it. He really did. “Yeah, I thought I'd do some last minute stuff before the elder Novak invasion. It looks like we're pretty good to go, now, though. The house is spotless, everybody's wearing new clothes...” He paused when he realized Jo had never made it back to help him the other day. “Hey... Is Jo all right?”

“Oh!” Ellen lightly smacked her own forehead. “I was supposed to tell you that she's sorry she never made it back, but that she got unavoidably detained. Such a fancy way of saying she bagged a bear, and needed the time to clean it.”

“She got a bear?” Dean felt awed. “Really?”

“She doesn't hunt bears,” Ellen said. “This one attacked her, but it didn't take my Joanna Beth by surprise, no sir! She's preparing the pelt for me and Bill to use as a rug right now. It'll take awhile. But, here's the best part.” Ellen leaned her hip against the table and looked at Dean with delight. “You ever eat pit roasted meat, Dean?”

“Can't say I have,” Dean admitted.

“Well, it's generally how you cook big hogs for a party.” Ellen rubbed her hands together. “But, the three of us have figured out how to pit roast that fat bear. Bill is digging the pit. We'll line the pit with bricks, then fill it with wood and burn it all down to coals. Then, we'll add more, until we've got about two feet of hot coals. The bear, which I'm going to season personally, is getting stuffed full of potatoes and carrots and onions. I'll tie him shut, stick a big apple in his mouth, then wrap him up in layers of hickory leaves. Afterward, we'll tie wet burlap sacks around him, cover him in heavy wire, drop him in, and close up the hole.”

“Wow,” Dean breathed. “Won't that put out the fire, covering the hole?”

“Yes, but that's okay, because it's the coals we want. It's going to take that bear from sundown to sundown to cook, we think, but when we haul him out of there, it's a feast!” Ellen grinned broadly. She was _excited_ , and Dean caught her excitement.

“Do I get invited?” Dean asked eagerly.

“Honey, we're feeding bear to everyone, even the snooty ones. Jo's been busy catching wild game just for the master's parents. They eat domesticated meat almost exclusively, and they come here to 'rough it', as far as the food goes. This time they won't be able to say 'boo' about how they get fed!”

Dean laughed. “A victory!” He crowed.

“Exactly!” Ellen giggled like a little girl.

Dean hugged her. “Ellen, I'm so glad,” he said. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Well, you can tell Master Novak what we're planning,” she said. “I was about to go home for the night.”

“Go on, then,” Dean said. “Great news, Ellen. Sleep well.”

“You too, dear.”

Dean was still smiling when he came back to Castiel's room. Crowley was gone, but there was a large, new bottle of wine sitting out. Dean poured himself a glass and drank it down. “I think you should know,” he said, unable to quit smiling, “that the Harvelle family have managed a culinary coup.”

“Do tell?” Castiel asked. His voice sounded a little odd, but Dean was too high on Ellen's happiness to pay much mind.

“Jo killed a bear,” Dean said. “Ellen and Bill are going to pit roast it with vegetables, and serve it to your parents. The rest of us, too, but...”

“But my insufferably hard to please parents will get wild game to eat that they've never had before,” Castiel said, chuckling. “Dean, that's splendid. It makes me smile inside and out.”

“Me, too,” Dean said. He offered his wineglass to Castiel, who sat on the edge of the bed. Or, rather, perched. It wasn't until he saw Castiel slightly hesitate that he realized he'd used an ingrained omega technique to engender intimacy and alpha favor. Drinking alcohol out of the same glass essentially meant 'I'm yours'.

“I'm so sorry,” Dean blurted. “I only meant to share.”

“It's fine, Dean,” Castiel assured him. “If not for the fact I see this gesture happening at my club matches I wouldn't even know what it meant.” Castiel took a healthy sip, and sighed.

“The club where you go beat the tar out of other alphas?” The moment it came out of his mouth, Dean got scared. Because, he shouldn't know anything about those alpha fights. Castiel had not told him of them.

Castiel cocked his head, and met Dean's eyes calmly. “Better to say that it's the club I go to so I can kill people, but essentially, yes.” He took another sip. “Someone's been gossiping about the master of the house. Charlie, perhaps?”

Now, Dean felt really scared. And, not just for himself, but Charlie. His nerve utterly failed him, and in a wave of sick fear, he fell to his knees before Castiel, head to one side and neck exposed. Panting, he shut his eyes. The smell of his terror was contaminated by harsh lemon soap, and his stomach surged in angry complaint.

“I really don't like seeing you do that,” Castiel said, and now Dean smelled Castiel's anger, his disapproval, and it made him lightheaded with a sense of impending doom. He swayed, thinking he might vomit, out of his mind with his own lack of control. He'd never felt an alpha's emotions as personal to himself, never. It took all of his strength to not fall on his face and black out.

When Castiel got up and left the bedroom, Dean collapsed onto the floor, sucking wind. A deep, gut-twisting shame made his face burn. He should have confessed it was Charlie. He shouldn't have said anything about that club. That was Castiel's business, not his. He owed Castiel everything, for taking him out of day to day lonely fear, and giving him purpose. For his good clothes, and the food he ate. For a warm bed, and wine, and the chance to make friends at Tor-Valen.

He didn't know how long he lay there.

Dean eventually came to his senses enough to tend to his duty. He built up Castiel's fireplace, shaking, and corked the leftover wine. He took that and the dirty glass back downstairs to the kitchen, his mind in a riot. He couldn't go back up there to sleep. It was a presumption. He'd offended Castiel. It was Castiel's right to refuse him, and until he got permission, he couldn't approach.

What was wrong with him? One part of him wanted to rage against his loss of self, his diminished dignity, and another, stronger part wanted nothing more than to crawl on hands and knees, to beg for Castiel's forgiveness and favor.

Dean went outside, staggering to the privy to vomit. He was so upset he had to void his bowls again, shaking with cold and trauma in the dark, drafty, reeking loo.

No, it was okay. He could do this. He could help save the manor and the people inside it. He could. All he had to do was play his part as the perfect omega to Castiel's parents. Castiel wouldn't like it one bit, and Dean expected to suffer for how he behaved, but there wasn't anything to be done about it. Castiel just had ideals too high for the way the world really worked. And, later, after those people were gone, Dean could do penance.

When Dean felt he could walk, he exited the privy. He staggered right into someone, and panicked, thrashing wildly.

“Easy, _easy_ there, boy,” Bobby's voice said, holding him by the wrists. “Settle down. I ain't gonna hurtcha, kid.” He let go, taking a calculated three steps back. “I smelled all kinds of omega hurt in the air, and thought I had a charity case seeking shelter in Tor-Valen. What's got you so mangled inside you're out here purging in forty degree weather... Dressed like that?”

Dean pushed back a sob. Yeah, he was cold. Just pants and a shirt wouldn't protect him much. He had to come up with something to tell Bobby, but his mind was so vacant, so fuzzy. “I... Bobby, his parents are going to want proof I'm a virgin, and he won't allow it,” Dean blurted. “And he's mad at me for listening to Charlie's gossip, but it wasn't like I could shut her up!”

“Okay, okay,” Bobby said, his voice going low and soothing, and all alpha calm. He took his heavy cloak off, draping it around Dean. “So, we need a plan of attack, here,” he said. “What's more important? What's first?”

Dean clutched the cloak to himself, standing there shivering, and thinking. “His lawyer,” he said. “Erikson. Erikson's the one who wanted proof of my virginity for Naomi and Zachariah. I need to go see a person who verifies that, and have papers delivered to Erikson.”

“All right, so far so good,” Bobby said, his voice bringing Dean out of sheer panic to semi-panic. “You're gonna need an omega to attend that, someone you're with _constantly_ ever after to prove you haven't slunk off to do the dirty with someone. Papers are only as good as the witness that never loses sight of you after they're drawn up, right?”

“Right,” Dean agreed. “Not Charlie. Ellen. I'll just stay in the kitchens with Ellen until his parents get here, then never be out of sight of either, or alone.”

“That sounds real reasonable,” Bobby praised. He put a hand on Dean's shoulder. “Let's go get Ellen. I'll leave you with her and get a carriage ready. I'll walk it to her cabin, and she'll get in with you, and I'll drive you to where you need to be, all right?”

“It's late,” Dean moaned. “I'll wake her up. It'll be two in the morning by the time we get to town. The virgin inspector, or whatever the _fuck_ he's called, won't even be _awake_!”

Bobby laughed as he walked Dean toward the cabins a hundred yards or so from the back of the manor. “Boy, that's where your alpha's money comes in,” he said. “I've got a bit stashed back, and it'll do. When everything is smooth-rolling again, I'll just get it back from you, okay?”

“Okay, Bobby,” Dean agreed, just defeated. He'd never wanted somebody's fingers up his ass to prove his unspoiled state, but this had to happen. It was important. Castiel couldn't lose the manor. These good people couldn't lose their homes and livelihood. Dean just wouldn't be responsible for that.

Bobby, holding Dean close in a protective manner, knocked softly on Ellen's door. In just a moment, Dean was looking at a big, rough looking alpha with kind eyes. “Bill,” Bobby greeted respectfully. “Dean and I need Ellen. If it wasn't important we wouldn't be here.”

Bill sniffed, taking in Dean's scent, and blanched. “Get the boy in here, Bobby,” he said quickly. “Is he physically hurt, or is all that emotional trauma?” He stepped back, and Dean was ushered into a nice, cozy room with a fireplace. Wicker furniture covered in thick furs and woolen blankets, made the room so inviting.

As Dean sat on a couch, only vaguely aware of people talking around him, he felt a spark of warmth in his chest. All his life he'd been trained that alphas were only after sex, and now he knew four of them that were kind and considerate. Bobby was better than his designation, and so was Bill. Jo was sweet. Castiel was idealistic, seemingly unruled by his alpha nature. It gave Dean hope.

“Hello, Dean, dear,” Ellen said, taking him by the elbow and making him stand. “Let's get this terrible business over with so we can come back here. I'll put you on my couch when we get home, and you can sleep until we have to make breakfast. It'll be a hard day. I'm not sugar coating it. But, it's not going to be as bad as you think.”

Numb, Dean walked to the stables with Ellen and Bobby. He got in the carriage with her, and sat in silence, huddled up in Bobby's cloak while Bobby walked the horses toward the access road slowly. He barely heard them.

“He muffled their hooves in scrap cloth,” Ellen explained, obviously reading his face. “We need to get this done without alerting anyone. Master Novak would never stand for you to endure this test, and I know why, and God bless him for that, but he's a bit naïve.”

“You're all going to be punished,” Dean whispered. “I didn't know what else to do, Ellen.” Dean was horrified to feel tears welling up. “If I don't do this disgusting, humiliating thing, then our _house_ is gone. _Castiel_ is gone.” He choked on his words, and sagged against her. “It's _good_ here, Ellen. I like it here. I want to be a _part_ of this, of what you all have.”

Ellen pulled him close, putting her arms around him. “Oh, Dean, sweetie,” she said, kissing his hair. “We've all grown attached to you in such a short time. You're so easy to love. We all want you here, I swear. You just think about that while you go through this.”

Dean went into a strange and distant part of his mind as Bobby took the cloth from the horse's hooves. He stayed there during the drive, just enjoying the soft, warm comfort of Ellen. She reminded him of his mother. In the back of his mind, he slowly gathered himself to be sturdy, to be strong. Because, Bobby and Ellen would have to be in charge of what happened once they reached town.

His brand felt like direct flame.

 

* * *

 

 

It was done. The examination, the writing of papers, the delivery of papers, the witnessing, and the vow of true purity. Dean had never felt as violated as he did now. That fucking _tool_ the examiner used... He clung to Ellen, so pained with the night's proceedings and the exchange of money over the state of his virginity, that he wanted to fall off the face of the earth and have never existed at all. Everything he'd endured went at odds to what he'd fought against his entire life.

“ _His womb must be healthy; the barrier between the evacuation channel and it has never been breached. It's fairly tough, actually. No, no one has ever entered this omega. I'll sign papers to that with an easy mind.”_

The ride went so slowly.

Ellen took him into her cabin, lowered him onto a pleasantly creaking wicker couch draped in furs, and gently covered him with woolen blankets. She kissed his temple. “Sleep now, dear,” she said, tucking him in. “Four hours is better than nothing. We'll make biscuits, smother them in a creamed chicken and vegetable gravy, and leave it at that. And then, afterward, you can sleep in front of the kitchen fireplace for a few more hours. I promise.”

Dean tried to answer her, but failed. He fell into a deep, deep sleep. And, when she shook him awake, he felt disoriented and stupid.

“Brand new day, Dean,” she said, taking off his blankets. She immediately offered him a glass of something alcoholic.

Dean drank, coughed, and drank some more. His head spinning quite nicely, he tried to get his bearings.

“Hey there,” Bill said, coming in to give him a glass of water. “Both hands, bucko. That's it.” He sat near enough to be friendly but not close enough for presumption. “For my wife's services as chaperone, I expect at least one good apple pie, you got me?” He winked at Dean, and Dean felt his spirits lift fifteen degrees. “No, seriously. It's my favorite, and she never makes it because she cooks for a living, and comes home fucking tired.”

“I'll learn how, and make you an apple pie,” Dean promised.

“Nice,” Bill said. “Now, I want you to do something else for me, okay?”

Dean gave a nod.

“You take the shit that these dumb-ass, self-important, limited, craptacular people have imposed on you, and turn that into defiance,” Bill said, his dark eyes burning. “I know that omega encoding demands you submit, but that can't be submission to _everyone_. It can't be a blanket coating. You do what you have to, but stand up for yourself, Dean. Ain't no one else you can depend on to do it right, you hear me?”

Bill leveled a look at Dean that made Dean's taxed nerves draw sustenance. “I liked you before we even met, because _Ellen_ liked you, because you took care of her duties when we were sick, because you sent her back to me with plain toast that calmed my belly, and tea that made me think I might yet live to see another day. That stuff can't be bought, Dean. It's only offered out of kindness and caring.”

Dean didn't feel comfortable with getting recognition for something that decent people do. It wasn't right.

Bill reached out a big, heavy hand, and patted Dean on the shoulder. “You get better,” he said. “You're a friend of my family no matter what happens, so take some comfort, there.”

Dean inclined his head to show he'd heard and understood, and a short time later he was elbows deep in kitchen work.

As promised, after breakfast, Ellen let Dean curl up on a woven grass mat right in front of the kitchen's main chimney. He basked in the heat, trying not to think about how disappointed Castiel was with him, trying not to think of being _violated_ , leaking tears and doing his best to get some control over himself,but to no avail. Ellen stacked baskets and crates on his other side, concealing him from casual view. In order to see him, someone would have to pass her.

The air smelled strongly of cinnamon and ginger, which brought comfort. Dean couldn't put his back to the fireplace because of the agony that caused. He eventually fell asleep even though he felt like he might be cooking on his front side.

“Wherever Dean might be hiding, or wherever you've put him, I don't know,” he heard Castiel say, and he stiffened, coming fully out of his sleep. “But, he hasn't been back upstairs, and he must be dirty by now. Here is a change of clothing for him, and Charlie asked that I bring down his fans.” Dean heard the quiet slide of one fan coming open. “Curious to think this is a weapon. Even with as large as they are, how can they even defend? They're oiled canvas, mostly.”

“You keep thinking that, Master Novak,” Ellen said briskly.

Silence, for a beat.

“Ellen, are you _angry_ with me?” Castiel asked.

“Of course not. Why would I be angry?” She asked right back.

“I... I don't know,” Castiel answered. “But, you _are_.”

“It's no business of mine if you're careless with your possessions,” Ellen said. “Please excuse me. I have lunch to prepare.”

It wasn't a request to leave Castiel, but a wish that Castiel would leave _her_.

Dean heard the door shutting a moment later, and squeezed his eyes shut in relief. Castiel hadn't smelled his presence, probably because of the spices in the kitchen. He thought to the day he'd met him, so few days ago. It seemed like an eternity, though, since he'd fallen to his knees in front of Castiel...

In this kitchen.

Dean sucked in a breath. Every single time Castiel had been close to him, he'd either reeked of strong soap, or the spices here. Castiel didn't know what he actually smelled like. That was an offense all by itself. He was supposed to be clean of scent in the presence of his alpha. And, there wasn't anything he could do about it right now, as he had to stay with Ellen until the Novak invasion.

“Dean, honey,” Ellen said, peering over the apple baskets at him. “Are you all right?”

“I'm scared, humiliated, and kind of pining,” Dean answered. He sat up. “I never wanted to be this, Ellen. The omega that has to have an alpha's approval, I mean. I was doing just fine until I met him. What's _wrong_ with me?”

“My guess?” Ellen helped him to his feet, and dusted him off. “I think he's your true mate. All those other alphas were repugnant to you, because they weren't _your_ alpha.”

“That happily ever after stuff isn't real,” Dean argued quietly. “Even if I believed it, what are the odds that my true mate would buy me, sight unseen?”

“Not very high, I'll grant you that,” Ellen said. “Sit down, and help me peel and slice potatoes. I'm making crisps for everyone as a treat, to go with the chicken soup.”

Dean put his fans and the green kimono on the large, clean windowsill, and sat. For an hour he peeled while Ellen sliced the results very, very thinly.

The back door opened, and Castiel came in, making Dean's heart thunder out of rhythm. “I thought so,” he said. “Dean, where have you been?”

“With Ellen,” Dean answered, whispering, keeping his head down.

“Look at me when we're talking,” Castiel snapped, impatient, making Dean jerk.

Dean obeyed. Those beautiful blue eyes were full of perplexed irritation.

“How often must I express that I don't want any cringing behavior towards me, Dean?” Castiel asked. “I could have gotten that with _any_ omega!”

The conflict in Dean's soul felt as if it would tear him to pieces. He wanted to run. Or, to vomit.

“You're being exactly what my parents love,” Castiel went on, his voice deepening, turning into real anger, and it made Dean's stomach shrivel. “Is that what you want from me? Hard, cold, unfeeling, demanding alpha who doesn't care about his omega? Is it? Because, that's what I'll give you if you _insist_!”

No, Dean didn't want that at all. He wanted someone to _care_ what happened to him. But, if he allowed Castiel to do things his way, Tor-Valen would fall back into the hands of Castiel's parents, and all of them would suffer for that.

“Answer me, Dean,” Castiel demanded.

Dean found he couldn't talk. He could not open his mouth and lie. Yet, he couldn't tell the truth, either. _The pressure would pop him apart_. He had no way out, no escape, no way to answer his alpha.

Except, he did.

Dean grabbed his fans, falling to his knees before Castiel. He spread them out, and held them over his head and neck, panting. Asking for mercy. Forgiveness.

“I don't know what that means,” Castiel said coldly. He marched out of the kitchen, pushing through the knot of servants clustered in the servant's dining room, uncaring who he shoved.

Leaving Dean without sanction or punishment.

It was the worst thing that could happen.

Five minutes passed with Dean horribly aware of people looking at him.

“He has _no idea_ what he bought,” Meg said, her voice hard, even furious. “You don't take a trained omega and expect him to act like an alpha!”

“Lower your voice, Meg,” Ellen said quietly, her voice sad. “This is hard enough for Dean.”

“This is my fault,” Charlie said. “I shouldn't have gossiped about the master to Dean. It got him into trouble.”

“It's not really your fault,” Bobby told her. “Like Meg said, Master Novak doesn't know what he bought. All he knows about omegas is that they're used by society. He's a moral man, so he takes offense at that. But, like a kid, he expects an abused dog to straighten right up when it gets a good home. That shit don't happen overnight.”

“All right, that's enough talking,” Ellen declared. “Everyone out. Lunch is in thirty minutes.” She shut the door, and sighed. “You can't move until he forgives or punishes, can you, Dean?”

“No,” Dean whispered. He wasn't supposed to talk, either.

“Well, shit,” Ellen said. “I should go up there and-.”

“ _No_ ,” Dean whispered furiously. He couldn't face Castiel again so soon, maybe not ever. He'd failed. He'd failed in the worst way. He didn't _deserve_...

“You can't kneel there like that all night,” Ellen protested.

“I'll stay with him, Mom,” Dean heard Jo say. He hadn't even known she was there.

“Joanna Beth, you're an alpha,” Ellen pointed out.

“I'm also without a cock,” Jo said, and if Dean hadn't been deep in the throes of sickening, emotional turmoil, he would have laughed. “You get lunch done, and close the kitchen. Give out the granola sticks. I promise no one will bitch, not after seeing this. I'll drag my game in here and work on prepping it, keeping Dean company. I won't let anything happen to him, I swear. I'll lock the doors after lunch is over.”

Ellen let out an explosive sigh. “I suppose that's the best plan. I have to rest if I'm going to cook for the Novak family. Your father already has the bear in the pit, so I'll just... do what you say.” As an omega, Dean realized, Ellen even responded to her own daughter in the dynamic of alpha/omega.

Lunch came and went with Dean kneeling, fans spread. He could keep this pose for hours if he had to, and it looked like he would. Jo brought in crates of dead animals to work, and locked the kitchen.

“I know you can't talk, and I'm not going to stress you,” Jo said. “I'm going to work on getting all these critters ready for cooking. I hope my singing won't bother you.”

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Dean's legs cramped horribly. His knees were so sore that even the movements of breathing agonized him. His arms and wrists had locked up completely. He traveled in his mind, escaping the kitchen, consciousness soaring toward the bluest skies. Skies that became eyes, condemning eyes. He jerked himself back into his aching body, relieved to hear Jo's singing. She hadn't said a word to him since noon, and it was well past midnight now, but Dean appreciated that. He didn't need patronized.

His bladder was so full. He'd wet himself in another hour or so, bent over like this with the pressure making it worse.

He was so stupid. Castiel wouldn't forgive him. He was going to starve to death here. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten. Yesterday? Yes, a plum. But, he'd vomited that up.

Again, Dean drifted away, seeking the bliss of escape. He flew far, so far, over an unfamiliar forest of golden yellow trees. The wind felt like freedom. It would be _good_ to die, to get rid of this slave body and fly forever where no one could touch him. He banked into the breeze and spied a wide, glistening lake of dark green water. Shouting for joy, Dean dove. He hit the water and kept going, the silken cold caressing him.

“Oh, Dean," he heard Jo say, and again he was pulled back. He was pissing himself. The warmth of it only made his mortification more complete.

“I'll get a mop,” she said.

“No,” he whispered. This was part of his punishment, too, being found like this. Thankfully, he wouldn't have to worry about soiling himself the other way. He didn't have enough food in him for that.

Jo left him alone, just went back to her work, but she stopped singing.

Dean passed out, locked into place by his own, tormented muscles.

 

* * *

 

 

He heard the Novak family arriving. They burst into Tor-Valen with their servants like noisy, quarreling sparrows. Dean felt the vibrations they made. His knees were bleeding.

Tor-Valen's staff walked past him quietly, in and out the back of the kitchen to do their duties, solemn and quiet as if they passed a corpse. Dean wished his body would go ahead and admit defeat. It would be so good to die.

To feel nothing.

Because, every part of him throbbed in agony, down to his very bones.

The house quieted down. Dean expected the so-called royals were resting from their long journey. He focused on Ellen's slight noise, and wished she wasn't crying. He wasn't worth that. His father had been right, after all. Even a good alpha found him a shameful burden.

“I want to see this omega my son purchased,” he heard a woman say. She had a powerful, commanding voice. Alone, she came into the kitchen, and stopped dead. “What is happening here?” She asked Ellen sharply.

Naomi Novak.

“Dean believes he has offended Master Novak, and is awaiting forgiveness or punishment, madam,” Ellen answered thickly. Tears holding back.

Castiel's mother drew a sharp breath. “Well, it's good to see an omega who knows manners, but this is shameful. Castiel _cannot_ treat the vessel of his children this way!"

Dean felt a slight, slight ripple of relief blending with hope. His humiliation had slightly induced Naomi's approval. Now, all he had to do was win over Zachariah. Maybe something good had come out of this? Did he dare to imagine so?

“Go and get my husband,” Naomi ordered. “And, send someone to find my son!” She came closer as Ellen ordered a maid to get Zachariah and to find Castiel. “My God, he _reeks_ of sorrow and fear. What has he done that my son would leave him like this? How long has he been here?”

“Twenty-seven hours,” Ellen reported. “His sin was listening to house gossip, I believe.”

“Listening, but not _participating_?” Naomi asked sharply.

“Dean doesn't speak of other people behind their backs,” Ellen said. “One of our other servants let her mouth wag about Master Novak's involvement in the Alpha Arrangement. She has been punished. But, that wasn't good enough for Dean's personal standards.”

Ellen was tempering events to favor Castiel and Dean both.

Heavier footsteps approached. The door opened. “Good God,” a man said. Zachariah. “Why is there an omega kneeling on the floor in his own blood and urine?” He sniffed the air strongly. “ _Christ_! What is he so _sorry_ about? Did he kill someone?”

“This is _our son's_ omega,” Naomi told him. “Didn't I say years ago that letting him get involved in everything under the sun but proper omega care, would come to tears? Castiel probably doesn't even know what this kneeling _means_!”

“Madam,” Ellen said. “Would you like to take possession of the Purity Writ for Dean?”

Oh, that was smart of Ellen. Get the papers handed over and seen before Castiel came.

“His purity writ?” Naomi asked. “My son approved of that? It seems he can do one thing right, at least. Yes, give them to me.”

Dean heard crackling paper.

“Twenty-six years old, bought and returned eight times, and still a virgin,” Zachariah mused.

“He was waiting for the best alpha, of course,” Naomi said, sounding pleased. “And, naturally, that would be Castiel. It's too bad our son is too obstinate to see that. But, look at this bloodline! Dean comes purely from a family of alpha males. It's like his mother had him _specifically_ to matron alpha children.”

“I can't help but approve of Castiel's choice, even without seeing the omega's face,” Zachariah added, and Dean felt a surge of relief so strong he trembled. “This is far better than I'd hoped for. I expected to come here and find him harboring some trouble-maker.”

“May I speak?” Ellen asked quietly.

“Yes,” Naomi said. “What is it you want to say?”

“I wanted you to know that Dean is very smart, and loyal,” Ellen reported. “He adores Master Novak. And, he is beautiful. He will make intelligent, lovely children for our master.”

“Well, these are all good things,” Naomi said evenly. “How come you to know he is intelligent?”

Ellen moved, and Dean heard the sound of paper crackling. “He made this when I fell ill. He handled the feeding of the household, planned meals, and did inventory. This listing is in his own hand. I kept it because it was so pretty. I cannot read and write, myself.”

Dean hadn't known that. He felt sorry for Ellen, and wondered how she read the spice jars. Maybe she just knew what things were by looking and smelling.

“Why, this is Arcalan long-character!” Naomi exclaimed. “It isn't even taught anymore! Will you look at this, dear?”

“I see, I see,” Zachariah assured, sounding impressed. “Suitable for framing!” Dean heard him pat his wife. “You stay here and wait for our boy, all right? I'm going to approve and finalize his ownership of this exceptional omega. You'll have to start correcting Castiel by yourself, because I might be awhile with his irritating lawyer. Erikson is a stuffy little fucker.”

An audible kiss.

Well, at least Castiel's parents loved each other, Dean thought.

Zachariah left, and Naomi helped herself to a kitchen chair. “So, tell me more about this omega,” she said to Ellen. Dean felt her fingers threading through his hair, a sign of sanction he needed, but couldn't rely upon as an 'out'. She wasn't the one he'd wronged. Still, Dean couldn't ignore the small sign of approval. He needed something to grab onto. And, Naomi, an alpha that smelled slightly of Castiel, was a comfort he would gladly take.

“Of course, madam,” Ellen said. “Might I offer you a cup of tea?”

“That's sweet of you. Yes. Do you have jasmine black?”

“Yes, madam.”

Ellen busied herself with filling a kettle. “As you can see by the fans Dean is holding, he's probably trained in the Ko-ba-hi method. I know that he most likely can fight with them. In this region, an omega may defend with fans.”

“Yes, I'm familiar with their predilection for the fan,” Naomi said thoughtfully. “I've had to learn the language.” Again, she curled her fingers in Dean's hair. Soft, gentle strokes meant to soothe. Her scent became powerful, rich with calming, and Dean sucked it in gratefully, tears welling up in his eyes.

“Well, Dean is willing to speak,” Ellen said. “He doesn't do it very much, though. Not a chatterbox. Master Novak insisted he go unveiled, like he does with the rest of us, and that was big step for Dean. I was proud of him for letting go of the thing that gave him his privacy and modesty.”

Dean honestly hadn't thought about this, but, upon hearing Ellen's words, realized that he really _had_ experienced some problems with the veil, even to the lack of it. He'd wandered about without it while at Sonny's, glad for the freedom, but buried his discomfort at losing the cover so quickly when brought here. He'd surrendered his veil to the fire at Castiel's quick judgment. Maybe that hadn't been good for him, after all, no matter how much he liked a clear view of the world.

“I'm torn about the issue of veils,” Naomi said. “An omega raised to cover his or her face will have a crisis when told to uncover. Yes, it immediately identifies an omega to the public, but people do have working noses. This kitchen is blocking most of my scenting ability, but Dean's regret and sadness are strong enough that I can detect his state easily.”

Naomi shifted, still running her fingers through Dean's hair in a compelling blend of support and consolation. “This is most unlike my son to let an omega kneel here like this. I'm very displeased. If his omega had done something terrible, like murder someone, then yes, I'd let him kneel until he died. But, this is very not done in Dean's case.”

“I'm not certain Master Novak entirely knew what it meant when Dean knelt with his fans up,” Ellen said. Dean heard the slight rattle of porcelain on porcelain touching down on wood, and figured that was a cup and saucer being placed before the Novak matron. “Master Novak left when Dean gave his display of penance. And, Dean refused to allow me to correct the master. He didn't want him embarrassed, I think.”

“What an amazing omega my son has managed to choose,” Naomi said warmly. She patted Dean, and went on stroking his head. Dean didn't feel her touch as condescension, either. “I thought as my husband did, that we'd come here and discover some useless little boy toy hiding behind my bleeding heart son.”

“Dean is anything but useless,” Ellen said, and Dean heard liquid pouring.

For about three minutes all was silence, except for the slight sounds of tea being sipped and cups either lifting or settling back down onto saucers. Then, the back door of the kitchen opened, and Dean smelled Castiel.

Worried.

Frantic.

“Mother, why did you...?”

Dean _felt_ Castiel's eyes upon him. He shivered violently at the attention even though his entire body had gone numb and impotent.

A chair scraped back. Two, light steps of a feminine nature, then the solid, heavy 'crack' of palm against cheek. “This is no way to treat an _**exceptional**_ omega,” Naomi raged, her voice like the rumbling of an earthquake. “You _bought_ him, Castiel, and you let him languish here on his knees like this? He's _bleeding._ He's _soiled himself_ waiting for _you_ to forgive him. Better to take a rod to him than to let him wait like this! I taught you better!”

Dean wanted to die.

“Mother...” Castiel's booted feet took two steps back. Now, the scent of dismay and guilt. Terrible, terrible failure. It made Dean sick.

“ _ **Look**_ at him, Castiel,” Naomi demanded, her alpha voice so strong and angry that Dean quivered, wanting to evacuate, but he had nothing to move. “He's asking you for your forgiveness, and you've let him atrophy here longer than twenty-four hours! I'm _disgusted_ with you!”

Dean would have done anything not to be involved with this. He hated hearing Castiel panting in pain, worry, and guilt. The scent of Castiel's dismay made him want to vomit.

“Mother, I didn't know,” Castiel said, his voice heavy with sorrow. “Ellen had charge of Dean. I had no idea-.”

“ _ **You bought him**_ ,” Naomi repeated, cold and terrible. “ _ **You**_ are his master, and it's _**your**_ duty to see to his needs. Those fans he has up are his way of begging you forgive him, and you _**walked away**_!”

Dean couldn't help himself. He moaned. He didn't even know why.

“You hear that?” Naomi asked. “He's been here since you left him, long enough to sit here in his own urine and blood. You ignorant boy! Those fans against his back and over his head mean ' _please forgive me_ '. Even an idiot would know that!”

Silence fell, awful and heavy.

“Castiel,” Naomi said coldly, calmly. “You take Dean up to your bedroom and order a bath. Clean him, take care of him, and put him to bed. He's _**dying**_. I can _feel_ his soul trying to break free of his body. He can't give you children if he's dead.”

“Yes,” Castiel said shakily. “Yes, Mother, of course, right now.”

Castiel's hand touched down on Dean's shoulder. The blissful agony of his touch made Dean keen and spasm. But, his entire body was locked up in pain. His arms and legs didn't belong to him anymore. When Castiel tried to pick him up, a surge of agony overtook Dean, and he screamed his pain out to the world, not even hearing his voice as belonging to him. His vision blackened. He bit his tongue. Blood poured from his mouth.

“Oh, _**sweet Christ**_ ,” Castiel swore, shaky and overcome.

“It's nothing more than you deserve,” Naomi said. “He's been waiting for you to forgive him. Do it now, Castiel!”

“Dean,” Castiel said, low and pained. “Dean, you're forgiven.”

It was such a relief, hearing that. Dean nearly fainted. He _wanted_ to faint. How cruel that he couldn't.

“You'll have to lay him on his side until his muscles unlock,” Naomi said. “It might take hours. I don't have to tell you to sit and wait with him, do I?”

“No, Mother,” Castiel answered softly. He gently pried Dean's fans loose, and Dean heard him put them on the prep table.

“Good. Now, I'm taking my tea upstairs, and I'm going to write down for you all I know about omega care. It appears you have absolutely no idea what you're supposed to do with Dean, and I won't have you killing him in your ignorance. He's too precious to waste. He's pure, educated and loyal, and in a world where many omegas are conniving, scheming wretches trying to get mated to wealth... Well, I don't know how you managed to choose him, I really don't.”

Naomi left.

Castiel gently lowered Dean onto his side, and Dean panted with pain and relief both. “I don't understand,” he said. “Why would you hurt yourself for me, Dean?”

“It's not like that, Master Novak,” Ellen said softly, her voice pitched in such deep understanding and sympathy. “Dean couldn't answer your questions yesterday. He was frightened, so he answered you the way he's been _taught_. I don't think you understand, sir, that a trained omega finds it difficult to change. He's only been here a few days. Less than a week.”

“But, Ellen, _you_ don't communicate with fans,” Castiel protested. “Charlie doesn't, either.” He sat on the floor beside of Dean.

Dean drew a vast, shaming amount of comfort from Castiel's heat.

“Charlie and I came from real homes, and Dean, from what I understand, has been in an omega school since he presented as one. Nearly his entire existence has been learning how to please an alpha, or to fend off one who isn't worthy of his purity.” Ellen gave a quiet sigh. “Put your hand on his head, sir. That's a show of approval. You're going to have to give him a lot of it for awhile.”

The feel of Castiel's fingers threading into his hair made Dean sigh. Bliss. Utter relief.

“My mother said he was pure, and now so do you,” Castiel murmured. “Why is it so important, his virginity?”

Ellen got up, and in a moment Dean felt a blanket draping over him. “It’s important to alphas because they prize virginity. To take it how they please, sir. To ensure that the omega only bears their children. Other than that, I suppose is the matter of disease.”

“And, Dean _is_ pure,” Castiel said, rubbing Dean's head lightly. “I've harmed purity.”

“We know he's a virgin because Bobby and I took him to town and helped him verify it with an omega handler through your lawyer,” Ellen said sadly. “Dean insisted it be done so that your parents wouldn't be able to take him from you. I gave the Purity Writ to your mother.”

“Oh, _Dean_ ,” Castiel said lowly, sadly.

Dean's arms unlocked. Gasping, he let them drop. They tingled and burned terribly.

“I'm quite certain I don't deserve you,” Castiel said.

“None of us do,” Ellen told him. “Dean didn't go through that merely to help you, sir. He didn't want the manor taken over, and all of us threatened by losing our homes and jobs. He's come to care for us in just a few days, and it's mutual. When I got sick two days ago, he ran the kitchen all by himself, and fed everyone. You might not know this, sir, but food is a very powerful way to say 'I care', especially to those of us who come from poorer backgrounds.”

Castiel was quiet a moment, his fingers tenderly rubbing Dean's scalp. “And, I refuse food because it's always been available to me,” he said. “I really am a blind man. I didn't know Dean ran the kitchen on Tuesday. All that work, and he was still able to bring me a plate of fruit. Wednesday morning, Crowley tried to tell me I needed to treat Dean differently, like a favored omega, and I refused to listen to him.”

Well, that explained to Dean why he'd been sent out with the trays. Sly old tailor.

Dean's legs gave a spasm, breaking free of rictus. He cried out, and was embarrassed for it.

“You can probably move him now, sir,” Ellen said. “I'll send up a tray of light food for him, and order his bath. I don't think Dean's eaten in three days. He certainly didn't yesterday, or the day before that.”

“Dear God,” Castiel whispered. Carefully, he picked up Dean, blanket and all. “Send up a bottle of wine, too, Ellen. It will warm him from the inside.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dean floated in Castiel's strong arms, amazed at alpha strength. Castiel smelled too much like guilt and sorrow, but still smelled good. He felt himself smiling as Castiel wrestled with the door knob, cursing. Because, Dean felt giddy to know Castiel hadn't hurt him on purpose. It had all been a horrid misunderstanding.

“Am I funny to you?” Castiel asked as he finally got the door open. “You know you've bonded yourself to the most socially inept saphead ever born?” Castiel reeked of regret, and the need to punish himself.

“No,” Dean managed to whisper. Castiel wasn't very aware of social mores, true, but that didn't make him stupid. It made him clean, kind of.

“We'll have to agree to disagree, then,” Castiel said, taking him inside his bedroom and carefully putting him on the bed.

Oh, _hell no_. This was a clean bed, and Dean was disgustingly filthy. He gave a mighty effort, and rolled onto the floor while Castiel had his back turned.

“Dean!” Castiel bent over him, his beautiful face contorted with worry.

“Dirty...” Dean tried to explain.

“You...” Castiel looked at the bed, then back at Dean. “Too dirty for the bed?”

“Yes.”

Castiel straightened up and put both hands in his hair, pulling. “Oh, my _God_ , what am I going to _do_ with you? I probably couldn't keep it together well enough to remember to feed a pet pigeon, and I've got to take care of _you_? _Holy Father_!”

“That's enough, Castiel,” Naomi's voice commanded. She'd entered the room at some point. “Dean didn't want to get your bed filthy, so respect that, and stop making noise. Honestly, are you even my son?” She handed Castiel three sheets of paper, and from his position Dean could see short-hand Arcalan characters.

Dean blinked. Was he _really_ better educated than his masters?

“This is all I could come up with immediately,” Naomi told her son. “I'll think of more, doubtless. And, do keep in mind that not all omega schools are the same. You might have to go to the school he came from in order to get the full impact of what's expected of you. Your ignorance as to Dean's upbringing is obvious, so I'm thinking you had your woman butler go and retrieve Dean. That was a social faux-pas, dear.”

No flies on this woman, Dean thought. Too bad that the rough side of her tongue could flay the hide off of a steer.

Castiel ignored his mother's scolding, mostly. He started reading the papers. He and Naomi had to dodge Wilkes and Peterson coming in with buckets of hot water.

“He is _not_ sleeping on a blanket on the floor!” Castiel said hotly. “I won't have it! He will share the bed with me!”

Dean saw Wilkes smile broadly.

“ _Of course_ he isn't to sleep on your floor, Castiel, he's your _panya_. I only included that so you'd know the particulars of the culture. Allowing him your bed is expected, now. If he were merely a toy, _then_ he'd have to sleep on the floor. You _remember_ that, because, if you dishonor him, he may attempt to do that to ask for your forgiveness.”

“If _**I**_ dishonor _**him**_ , he has to be the one to ask for forgiveness?” Castiel asked, looking astonished. “This is _sick_ , Mother!”

“I'm not going to pretend it isn't,” Naomi said calmly, shocking Dean down to his tingling toes. “All that shouting and protesting you did as a child, seeing us interacting with our omega servants? If you'd shut your mouth long enough to actually watch, you'd have seen your father and I were dealing with them _quite_ progressively.”

Dean forced his taxed, screaming muscles to obey him, and prostrated himself before the Novak matron. He was grateful to her, immensely grateful. She would help Castiel. She wasn't going to take her son's lack of knowledge as an excuse to remove Dean to her own care.

“Oh,” Naomi said, her voice gone kind. Dean felt her fingers ruffle his hair. “You're welcome, Dean. You may sit up, if you wish.”

Dean found he wanted to. But, he couldn't. He tried, and failed.

Castiel knelt, helping him to sit up.

“Good, Castiel,” his mother said. “You're educable.” She paused, and looked down at Dean. “Oh my,” she said. “Castiel, your omega cook wasn't exaggerating.” She leaned down and touched Dean's cheek with a gentle hand. “ _Look at you_... What a beautiful face.”

Dean blushed. He couldn't help it.

Naomi smiled, and her blue eyes were so kind. “You're adorable. I look forward to talking to you when you've recovered from your lamentably long time of penance.”

“Mother, you're thinking with your alpha parts,” Castiel said irritably. “Dean belongs to me, not you.”

“Ah, there's the attitude I've been waiting for,” Naomi said, smiling at Castiel. “Good, son. And, you're right. He does belong to you. Be worthy of him.” She patted Dean on the head and left.

Castiel threw his mother's instructions down on the bed with a snarl.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Dean, sitting on the floor, watched Castiel sift through a large container of hygiene aids. His alpha's hair was sticking straight up, eyes burning bright blue in vexation.

“Scented, scented, scented,” Castiel pronounced, throwing bar after bar of soap into the trash near his work table. The table was across the bedroom, and Castiel wasn't even looking, but every bar went neatly into the can with a dull, resounding 'bongggg'.

Dean was impressed.

“Are _all_ of these scented?” Castiel asked. “I'm not supposed to use anything with an odor on you!”

Dean weakly smirked. All of the misery he'd put himself through, and Castiel was actually having a harder time. It rocked his world to suddenly know that Dean's care was entirely in his hands. And, Dean liked that fact. He'd spent his entire life thinking no one could merit owning him.

“Finally!” Castiel found a bar of soap wrapped in paper and tied with linen bands. He put that on the edge of the bureau, and started opening bottles to sniff.

Oh, the faces he made.

“If my staff knows all about omega care, why hasn't someone corrected me?” Castiel growled as he chose a bottle. “I'm not a _complete_ ogre. At least, I didn't think so before today!”

Apparently, Castiel didn't remember how upset Charlie had been to know she'd bathed Dean in patchouli soap, not anticipating Castiel would meet Dean before the smell wore off. Dean crawled over to the tub on his agonized, protesting knees, and sat closer to Castiel.

A knock came at the door.

“Come in!” Castiel shouted, all pissed off, unsettled alpha.

Crowley entered and shut the door behind himself, leaning on it.

“If you're here for a gloat, go ahead,” Castiel said, giving a little snarl afterward that made Dean's dick twitch.

“I'm not here for a gloat, stud,” Crowley said, smiling.

Dean gaped at him. That was incredibly bold, calling Castiel 'stud'. Especially since Crowley was an omega.

Castiel didn't even pay attention to the nickname. He found unscented conditioner, and set it beside the rest of his approved toiletries. “What, then?” He asked.

“Bobby sent me up to take care of a wound on Dean's back,” he said. “It needs a new dressing, and you aren't to get it wet.”

“How did he get hurt?” Castiel asked swiftly. “You know what? Never mind. It's probably _my_ fault.”

Crowley took a fresh bandage and a tiny jar from his pocket, and approached Dean. “Put your back to the light, darling,” he said.

Dean, grateful that Bobby had thought to circumvent the 'outing' of his brand, turned to face Castiel instead of the tub. Crowley helped him get out of his shirt, and carefully peeled away the old bandage. He must not have known exactly what he'd see, for Dean heard him suck in a quiet breath. But, he said nothing. He used a little of the bathwater to clean off the honey, which hurt like hell, then applied the contents of the jar. It wasn't honey. It smelled awful, like turpentine, but didn't sting. In fact, it cut the pain entirely.

Crowley applied the new bandage, and it stuck to the liniment very well. “Like I said, don't get this wet,” Crowley said. Then, as Castiel nodded and started searching for something, probably a towel, Crowley leaned down to speak in Dean's left ear. “Did _he_ do this to you?”

Dean shook his head 'no'.

Crowley patted his shoulder, and moved away.

“Are there rules for how I have to treat you, and the rest of the omega staff?” Castiel snipped.

“No, sir,” Crowley said smoothly. “We'll all endure your clumsy, ham-fisted attempts at alpha behavior, as you see fit.”

“Get out,” Castiel ordered, opening his door. “Disrespectful tailor.”

Dean was pretty sure the door hit Crowley on the way out.

Castiel paced back to Dean and looked down at him, hands on his hips. “When I asked you if you wanted me to treat you like I didn't care, I didn't _know_ it was like slapping your face,” he confessed, his eyes softening with sadness. The corners of his beautiful mouth turned down. “And, now that I understand you couldn't even guide me on how to behave, I'm appalled. I should have done a little more thinking about what it meant to comply with my parent's wishes.”

Dean bowed his head. Yes, Castiel probably should have considered things a little deeper. But, it wasn't Dean's place to say words of forgiveness.

“Oh, _Dean_. How I've wronged you. Without even meaning to.” Castiel got his hands under Dean's arms, and slowly, carefully lifted him to stand. “Well, let me clean you up, all right? You'll want to attend the bear roast in a few hours, I know. You were so excited about it.” He stripped Dean of his trousers, and helped him get into the tub.

Dean had to sit upright to avoid the back of the tub. The hot water felt good. He closed his eyes, and sighed.

“Oh, your _knees_ ,” Castiel said lowly, pained. “I didn't know pressure could cause something like this. More ignorance. My mother is right.” He used the lightest touch possible in cleaning the raw wounds. “But, I don't understand why you fought all those _other_ alphas and won't fight _me_.”

Again, Dean lowered his head. He wouldn't fight Castiel because Castiel was kind. Castiel didn't presume to own Dean's body. All of the bad things that happened recently were because Castiel was _different_ , because Castiel thought Dean was worth something.

“You told me that no one had ever been considerate of you,” Castiel said. “I _thought_ I was being considerate, but instead I've been confusing you, and throwing you into chaos.”

Well, that was an understatement. Dean smiled. “Yes,” he said, putting all his inflection into making it a word of comfort.

Castiel gave a sound that was half self-derision and half humor. “Be patient with me, Dean. I'm as far out of my comfort zone as you are, I think.” He took a cup, filled it with bathwater, and moved behind Dean, most likely to wash his hair. “Oh my _God_ ,” he whispered. “Dean, your _back_.”

For a horrible moment Dean thought his bandage had slipped. But no, he could feel it.

“St. Addams whipped you hard enough to _**kill**_ you,” Castiel said, his voice strangled. “How did you survive this? Have you known _nothing_ but misery?”

The sympathy in Castiel's voice turned Dean's resolve into pain. Head bowed, collapsing in upon himself, Dean let a quiet sob escape him. Yes, he'd almost died from shock and blood loss. It had taken him a month to do more than lay on his stomach in agony, getting food brought to him and bandages changed. Dreaming fever dreams, losing time, humiliated and worthless.

“Dean, please excuse me a moment. Wait here. I need my mother to see this, because I'm bringing charges against that alpha demon,” Castiel said. “This is nothing more than brutality. I didn't know your punishment was so severe.” He fled the room, then.

Dean picked up the dropped cup, and wet his hair. He shampooed and rinsed, applied his conditioner and waited. Castiel returned with Naomi, and as they stood behind Dean, Dean heard Naomi growl.

“Castiel, go get your father this _instant_ ,” she said. The fury in her voice made Dean shiver. "How did that man get away with this? Why did no one call in the authorities?

Castiel ran from the room. Naomi put her hand on Dean's head. “I swear to you, little omega, that St. Addams will pay for what he has done to you. No one would have merited such treatment, especially not someone like you.”

Not knowing what else to do, Dean bowed his head. But, he took comfort in gaining alpha sanction.

Soon, Zachariah came into the room. He took one look at Dean's back and grabbed one of Castiel's decorative vases, throwing it against the wall. The smell of alpha wrath, three times over, made Dean huddle over his knees.

“This is why 'alpha' is synonymous with 'savage',” Zachariah raged. “The old man is sick, but I'll have his fortune, and his servants, and all his land for this outrage! His sons will inherit ashes!”

Dean whimpered. He couldn't help it.

“You're frightening him, dear,” Naomi said quietly. “What is this?” She plucked at Dean's bandage, and before Dean could even move away, she'd peeled it off.

The awful, awful silence in the room. Dean, bereft of fans, spread his fingers out and put them over his head and neck. His arm muscles wailed in torment.

“ _ **Oh my God**_ ,” Castiel whispered. “Mother, I didn't do this to him, I swear!”

“No,” Naomi said, her voice broken. Shaking. “He did it to _himself_ so we wouldn't take him away from you, Castiel.” She moved to the side of the tub, and spread her hands over Dean's. “Dean, Dean,” she crooned. “It's all right. I swear it. We won't remove you from Castiel. I promise. There is nothing to forgive."

Dean let his aching arms slide down. They fell into the water limply.

“It's an old, old practice, Castiel,” Naomi said, stepping back. “An omega would have himself branded along with the cattle so that his alpha's rivals couldn't take him. No alpha would want an omega with his enemy's brand. Dean can never belong to anyone but you, son.”

“This is about three days old,” Zachariah said, gentle and sober. “Dean must have gone missing from you somewhere around that time.”

Castiel sighed. “The day after he tried to tell me, _**on his knees**_ , that he wasn't my peer. And, I didn't listen.”

Naomi re-covered Dean's wound gently. “It's healing well,” she said, attempting to console her son. “In a few weeks he'll be fine, Castiel. I hope you take his loyalty and hold it close to your heart. None of _our_ omega servants would brand themselves for us. We wouldn't wish them to. But, this?” She ran her fingers through Dean's hair. “You're a good boy, Dean. I approve of you.”

Dean relaxed. Everything was okay, now. The manor was safe, Castiel was safe. Nothing would change, and everyone still had their homes, their jobs. The food would keep coming in.

“You'd better finish his bath before he gets cold,” Zachariah advised. “Put him to bed afterward, and we'll talk about what to do to St. Addams.”

“Yes, Father,” Castiel murmured.

The moment they were gone, Castiel knelt at the side of the tub, facing Dean, and put his hands on Dean's cheeks. Dean was alarmed to see tears in those blue eyes. “Dean...” Castiel shook his head. “I wouldn't have... I would have _stopped_ you. All I've given you is pain, and you're _still_ true to me. And, if not for you, I might not still have Tor-Valen. All the things I insisted upon to thwart my parents were exactly _wrong_ , and you knew it!”

Dean lowered his eyes since he couldn't lower his head.

“All right,” Castiel said. “I see I'm not supposed to heap you with praise. I'll respect that with what I say, but in my heart I cannot.” He let go of Dean, then.

Dean rinsed his head as Castiel squatted there, staring at him. He washed himself as quickly as he could, for the water was worse than tepid now. Castiel got him a towel, and helped him out. As Dean had done for him, Castiel put Dean in front of the fire before calling down for the bathwater to be removed.

When the men finished, Castiel brought soft clothing over and helped Dean to dress. He then carried him directly to bed. As he pulled the covers up, he met Dean's eyes. “Green like peridot,” Castiel said. He leaned over, putting his lips on Dean's forehead. “Sleep well, Dean.”

Dean shut his eyes, and fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

 

Castiel's mother came to get Dean in the evening. She chose a white kimono for him, and just put it on over his sleepwear. She had his fans, and hooked them into his obi, properly, using the tabs made for securing them.

“Aren't you sweet,” she murmured as she combed his hair. “You'll be an excellent father to my son's children. I'm very, very pleased with you, Dean. You shall have all the status an omega can be given.” She held up a pair of satin slippers, looking at him seriously. “Firstly, you shall wear covers on your feet. I see someone has tried to make it seem as if you haven't been barefoot your entire life. Your feet must hurt.” She put the slippers on him. They felt weird. He wriggled his toes, uncertain as to if he liked this.

“You will have to sit at Castiel's feet during the meal, but I see no reason you shouldn't have a cushion and a blanket. Please be patient with my idealistic son, as he is going to balk at having to feed you.”

Naomi picked Dean up.

Dean eyed her in astonishment.

Naomi's lips quirked into a smile. “Alpha strength,” she reminded. “I'm extraordinarily strong for an alpha female, though. You might have noticed Castiel is also surpassing strong? He gets that from me.”

Well, that explained quite a bit, actually.

Dean couldn't get over it, though. When Naomi carried him past the servants, Dean caught Bobby's eye and sent him a silent 'can you believe this?' to the man.

Bobby, his eyes wide, shook his head.

Naomi carried him right out the back kitchen door to the yard, where tables and chairs had been set up for the outdoor dining. “We are eating with the staff tonight, to show them you are recuperating, and to display our approval of how they, at least, have taken care of you,” Naomi informed. “I'm told we are to be dining upon pit-roasted bear, and I'm very excited about this.” She put Dean on a thick, large cushion beside the chair at the head of the table, then collected a blanket from nearby and unfurled it over him.

Dean took a fan from his obi and spread it, then pointed to Jo, who stood at the pit with her father.

“Oh, she killed the bear?” Naomi asked, and she shocked Dean by sitting directly beside him _on the ground._

Dean nodded.

Naomi smiled at him. “You needn't look so surprised. I'm your master's mother, and it pleases me that you care for him so much.”

Dean held the fan up until only his eyes were showing over it.

“You're welcome, dear,” she said.

Dean sagged in relief. Naomi _did_ know fan language, after all. He wouldn't have to speak tonight.

“You'll talk when you're ready,” she assured him. “I know that trauma translates a certain way to omegas. The first thing most of you are taught is to be silent, so you fall back on that when you're uncertain.”

Dean bowed his head to her, held the pose five seconds, and straightened back up.

“You have lovely manners,” Naomi said. “I'm quite sure Castiel doesn't deserve you. Perhaps you'll teach him how to comport himself in public. _**I**_ never could. He was wild from birth. Left to his own initiative, he'd be swinging from the trees while wearing a bone in his beard.”

Dean stared at her, open-mouthed in shock. Then, a helpless little whine of laughter left him.

Naomi slid him a sly, mischievous smile askance.

They sat quietly until the table was set. Then, Naomi got gracefully to her feet, and patted Dean on the head. “I'll sit close,” she said. “Don't worry. I'll fend any conversation problems. You speak the way it soothes you to speak.”

Dean bowed to show his gratitude, and Naomi took her chair.

Castiel appeared, looking aggrieved. Someone had told him, then, that he was expected to feed Dean by hand. He squatted down in front of Dean. “Does this really give you a sense of rightness? Being fed at my feet?”

Dean bowed his head. For now, yes, it would make him feel better. Maybe later it wouldn't matter, but right now he needed the assurance, rules.

“Castiel, don't ask him,” Naomi snapped. “Just do as you're supposed to do. Let him have this.”

Castiel dropped into his chair, tense as anything. Dean listened to all the industry, food being served, drinks being poured. He was thirsty more than hungry, but he'd wait and see what Castiel offered first.

“Now,” Naomi said as everyone was seated. “You all know why we're here, and I expect house gossip has filled in a lot of blanks. Everyone that had a hand in helping Dean, please stand.”

Dean didn't look. He knew who had helped him.

“Speak your names,” Zachariah said.

Bobby, Meg, Ellen, Jo and Bill, all said their names. Crowley did not, even though he, too, had been a help. Dean wondered why.

“Twenty gold pieces to each one of you,” Zachariah said, and Dean felt a little tremor of disbelief. That was a lot of money. Sixty alone went to the Harvelle family. Dean felt they deserved it, too, and not because of how they helped him.

“You're Bobby, the groomsman?” Zachariah asked.

“Yes, sir,” Bobby answered.

“You are to take the best horse in the stable for yourself, even if it is my son's favorite,” Zachariah said.

Dean sneaked a look at Castiel, finding the alpha had no expression whatsoever.

“Ellen, for what you have done for Dean, you will receive three, full time kitchen maids, and are relegated to overseeing the kitchen instead of serving in it,” Naomi said.

Dean smiled. Ellen wouldn't have trouble letting younger women do the physical labor, but she'd certainly be a hands-on overseer.

“Jo, your mother tells me that you were the one who looked after Dean as he knelt a shamefully long time on the kitchen floor,” Naomi said. “Is that true?”

“I just stayed with him so he wouldn't be alone,” Jo answered. “Madam,” she added.

“You're an alpha, aren't you?” Zachariah said.

“Yes, sir, but as I don't have the equipment needed to violate Dean, I didn't think it would matter if I stayed with him,” Jo answered, and a lot of people laughed, even Zachariah.

“You're the one who killed this bear?” Naomi asked.

“Yes, madam.”

“Excellent. Do you read and write?”

“No, madam.”

“Then, have Dean help you make a list of all the weapons and tools you want. They will be given to you. Also, you shall receive an extra ten pieces of gold. I want you to take three days off each week to attend the alpha school in town, where you will receive an education. Such a young and impressive alpha female must be nurtured.”

“Thank you, madam,” Jo answered, her voice shaking a little.

“It is no trouble. We will pay for your schooling.” Zachariah said.

“Is there anything else?” Naomi asked. “No? Good. Let us begin this feast.”

Dean heard Castiel let out a breath of relief.

The clinking of cutlery and glasses was music to Dean's ears. Castiel lowered his wineglass to Dean and let him drink.

“That's not really the way to do it,” Naomi said quietly. “I hope you haven't upset him.”

“How am I _supposed_ to do it?” Castiel asked, also quiet.

“You hold the wine in your mouth, and feed it to him,” Naomi told him.

Dean quickly took a fan out, and, keeping it folded shut, tapped the left side of his throat.

“He says this is fine,” Naomi said.

Castiel shot Dean a look of pure gratitude, and Dean felt a smile curling his mouth.

Nervous little alpha, afraid to touch lips with him.

Castiel's eyes narrowed as if he knew exactly what Dean had been thinking. “You're enjoying this,” he accused as soon as his mother's attention lay elsewhere.

Dean spread his fan, covered half his face, and peeked at him with one eye.

Castiel cut a piece of meat, handed it down on a fork.

“With your fingers, Castiel,” Naomi sighed.

Castiel ground his teeth hard enough for Dean to hear it. He took the meat from the fork and tried again. Dean was careful not to do what he wanted to do, which was scrape his teeth on those long, pretty fingers, or even to lick him.

The bear was excellent. It was so tender he barely needed to chew it.

Castiel cut everything on his plate, then abandoned eating with a utensil himself. He gave Dean a bite of buttered potato, watching him chew it, his face going from tense to thoughtful. He looked over at his mother. “Mother, what does this mean?” He asked, holding his spread hand over one eye and leaving the other one free.

“That one is complicated,” Naomi told him. “It's used for 'I want to know you', and also to admit shy attraction. Or, it can be used to show light-hearted guilt.”

Castiel's eyes slid down to Dean. Carefully, he offered him a piece of tender, spiced carrot. Then, more wine.

Dean was getting off on this. Seriously. He was glad for the blanket, because it concealed his hard-on. He had to be careful to not get into this too much, or he'd start making slick, and that would really call down the thunder. It was just so difficult not to let go. Castiel looked amazing up there above him, all confusion and cautious interest, blue eyes and spiky hair.

“It's very odd, choosing what he will eat,” Castiel said quietly. “Or, choosing that he eats at all.”

“Try to think of it as loving instead of patronizing,” His mother suggested. “ _God only knows_ how difficult that is. Before I met your father I had an omega for myself, and she wouldn't do anything the non-traditional way.”

“You never told me that,” Zachariah blurted out, and several of the servants tittered.

“Dear, you convinced me to like _men_. That should be enough of an ego boost to alleviate your hurt.”

Now, real laughter went around the table. Dean laughed, too, but silently, and shook in place. He saw Castiel looking back and forth at his parents, shocked, and that only made it worse. He wasn't able to take the next bite of food right away. And, when he did, Castiel was smiling, too.

“It's much better to see you happy,” Castiel said.

Dean took a bite of succulent, roasted onion, and fanned himself with the fan turned backward.

“He says he'd like _you_ to be happy,” Naomi translated.

“Dear Lord, how much speaking can be done with a fucking fan?” Castiel blurted out.

Bobby's laugh was louder than anyone's.

Zachariah sighed explosively. “Apparently, worlds. Whole dictionaries. You'll have to teach me this language, dear.”

“It would be profane to do so,” Naomi said primly. “I'd have to hold the fan, and the fan is exclusive to an omega. It is their communication, their weapon, and their security.”

“How is it a weapon, madam?” Jo asked politely.

“You'd have to see it to understand, Jo,” Naomi said in a kind voice. “I didn't believe it or understand it until my omega was forced to defend us while traveling. I hadn't even reached my sword before she dispatched two grown alpha men crazy in their rut.”

“Wow,” Jo breathed. “I've heard that if an omega kills an alpha with their fans, that it's legal.”

“Very true. You have to understand that most omegas focus on the allure and communication aspect, not on the bodily defense. It's a dying art form, fan defense and attack.” Naomi gave a nod in Dean's direction. “Something tells me that Dean is proficient in _every_ way.”

Dean bowed his head a moment. When he looked up, Castiel had a strip of bread for him. Their eyes met, and Dean knew that he'd eventually have to demonstrate for his alpha. He gave Castiel a silent promise with his eyes, and Castiel understood it. His eyes showed surprise and gratification. The next bite of food Dean received was bear wrapped around potato.

As Dean chewed, Castiel wiped his hands on his napkin. Then, Castiel reached down and put his hand on Dean's head.

Dean closed his eyes, feeling happy. His alpha had acted correctly, and without prompting.

“There,” Naomi said, her voice kind and tender. “See how happy that makes him, Castiel? It wasn't even hard for you to do.”

“It still feels like I'm patronizing him,” Castiel replied, but there wasn't any heat in his tone. He just worried.

“Dean won't need this kind of treatment all the time,” Zachariah said. “He's just using his training to get back on an even keel. Trust me.”

“Is that true, Dean?” Castiel asked.

Dean took his closed fan and tapped his lips with it, then bowed his head.

“Yes, it's true,” Naomi translated.

“Thank God,” Castiel said loudly, drawing more laughter from the group.

“It can't be that bad, sir,” Jo said, giggling. “Dean's _pretty_.”

Castiel, lips pressed together, eyed Jo. But, he didn't say anything.

Dean honestly didn't know what his face looked like anymore. He had a vague recollection from looking at himself in his mother's hand mirror once, but that memory was so far removed, now. He knew he drew attention from horny alphas, though. He hadn't seen any mirrors in the manor, and wondered why. Castiel had enough money for them, certainly.

Castiel held his wineglass down, and Dean had two sips. He did love this wine. When he took his face away from the glass, Castiel offered water. Dean drank heavily, but not sloppily. Castiel sighed. “You were very thirsty. I'm sorry.”

Dean tapped the left side of his throat with a folded fan.

“No, it isn't 'fine',” Castiel said. “At no point do I ever want you lacking for food and water.”

Dean bowed his head to show acceptance and submission. Of course Castiel wouldn't want him suffering. Dean wouldn't feel a damn thing about an alpha capable of harming him on purpose.

Castiel petted his head gently. “It's all right, Dean. I'm angry with myself, not you. Through everything, you have been flawless.”

Dean's eyes got wet. He kept his head bowed so Castiel wouldn't see.

“Give him a few minutes,” Naomi suggested. “He's eaten enough to tax his shrunken stomach. A small rest period is in order.”

She knew very well what Dean was hiding, and she abetted him.

He listened to the talking, hearing small groups carrying on different conversations. Zachariah and Naomi discussed shipping business with Castiel. They had many large clipper ships as well as freight vessels. Dean had put himself inside a very wealthy, formidable family. He felt amazed they approved of him, slightly. There were so many omegas in the world. Why settle for Dean when they could buy anyone for their son?

Through it all, Dean felt very glad of Naomi's support. She was the most important one to please when considering between her and Zachariah.

“Dean, if you're ready to continue, I want you to try something you've probably never had before.”

Dean looked up at Castiel, curious. He had a globular, small white thing between finger and thumb.

“This is called a 'snowball',” Castiel said. “It's made of cream cheese mashed with pineapple, and then it's rolled in fresh coconut shreds. My mother always brings a supply of them when she visits, taking the trouble to travel with ice just so I can get my favorite sweet.”

Dean had never heard of any of the ingredients but the cream cheese. He opened his mouth.

The first bite he took was _spectacular_ , and he groaned aloud, long and noisy as he began to chew. He was so loud, in fact, that everyone stopped talking. But that was okay, because Castiel's eyes danced with pleasure at having given him something he liked so much. A shared enjoyment was powerful.

Naomi laughed richly. “I knew it,” she said. “Not everyone likes coconut.” She stood up and presented a box to the table. “Everyone, try,” she bade.

There were various noises, then. Most everyone found the treat interesting, but only Ellen really celebrated. Dean took his time eating the small ball of gorgeous flavors. And, when he swallowed, Castiel offered him another.

“Aren't they good?” Castiel asked, smiling. “I wish pineapple and coconut grew here.”

Dean did, too.

Castiel fed him a total of five of the wonderful things, letting him have the good wine in between. Dean began to feel sleepy as well as pleasantly full. He swayed in place while chewing.

“Excuse us, please,” Castiel said, standing. “Dean is ready to sleep. Thank you for the wonderful meal, and the company.”

Dean barely blinked before he found himself in Castiel's arms. Oh, they were so solid and strong. He loved the feel of them. He let his head rest on Castiel's shoulder, fully content for the first time in a long time. So long ago that he didn't even remember.

Meg walked ahead of them, opening doors for Castiel. At the bedroom, she went so far as to turn down the covers for them. “I'm going to say something and never impose again,” she said. “Good for you, sir. It all goes against your basic nature, and you still did it well.” With that, Meg left, closing the door behind herself.

Castiel looked at Dean while helping him remove the obi. “Do you ever wish you'd been born normal, a beta?” He asked seriously.

Dean cracked a smile. He nodded.

Castiel took off Dean's kimono. “When you awaken, if I'm not up, awaken me,” he instructed. “I've figured out you usually get up before the sun does, but kindly let me sleep until at least dawn. Father and I will to go into town and start exacting justice. Mother will want you to take breakfast with her, I think. She really, really likes you, Dean.”

Dean decided to make himself speak. “I... really... like your mother,” he said. “Hard and... pretty like a good sword.”

Castiel grinned. “I'll tell her you said so,” he promised. He took Dean's slippers off, and tossed them into a corner. Then, he helped Dean get under the covers. “I'll build up the fire, and join you,” he promised. “I'm exhausted.”

Dean imagined he was.

Though Dean wanted to stay awake to watch Castiel undress, he failed. He fell asleep as Castiel piled wood into the fireplace.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Dean felt well enough the next morning that it didn't tax him to eat with Naomi. In lieu of her son's presence, she took the task of feeding him. Dean relaxed into how natural she was with the duty, and felt infinitely appreciative of her experience. She often combed her fingers through his hair, and wiped his mouth for him. Truthfully, Dean found it a bonding, family experience. He told her so with his fans.

“You're a dear thing,” Naomi replied. “I couldn't have chosen better for my son. He's lamentably unable to fend for himself in matters practical. That's not to say he isn't a good businessman, of course, but...” Naomi sighed, and shook her head as she offered Dean a taste of delicious, cold sweet cider. “Well, Castiel is an artist. You know what those are like. They go about filthy dirty, talking to themselves and laughing at nothing. Most are genuinely insane. Art in the blood is powerful. His grandmother, Bea, was a brilliant sculptor, but she kept poisonous snakes for pets, and insisted upon riding a donkey even though she had a stable full of beautifully bred horses.”

Dean laughed.

Naomi's lips twitched. “Yes, it _is_ funny,” she admitted. “Still, Castiel has managed to cause great prosperity in Tor-Valen. We'd written this estate off as a loss, and he insisted upon giving it a shot. And, what do you know? In five years he had people clamoring for the honey his special bees create. Enough so that he was able to staff the place and branch out his venues.”

Dean told her he'd seen the hives, though it was difficult to make that work with his fans.

“My, you are _incredibly_ versatile with those bits of iron and canvas,” Naomi said. “If I wasn't dead-clever I'd have problems.” She gave Dean a bite of sage stuffed sausage, and a drink of her tea. “So, you saw the bees. Well, I have to admit, the honey Castiel sends me has all my friends in an uproar. They beg me so often for it that I have to place my order early. Castiel is still unintuitive enough that he doesn't set any aside for me.” She tsked. “I think you can fix that, though. You have a good head on your shoulders.”

Dean promised to do what he could.

“Then, I will doubtless have what I want,” Naomi replied, smiling. She gave Dean a bite of buttered toast, and another sip of tea. “You know, you make me miss my beautiful little omega. I would still be with her, but she took the falling sickness and died. I still mourn her.”

Dean felt sad to hear that. When she offered him another bite of sausage, he bowed over her hand to show his regret.

“Thank you, Dean. Perhaps I shall see her again after I die. I like to think so. She had my heart. Now, Zachariah has part of it, too, all that I can spare, but to me, she will always be the love of my life.” Naomi gave him a piece of her omelet next. “I came to understand, while with her, that being an omega, a treasured omega, is perhaps one of the greatest joys and freedoms possible for a human being. So many people beat their breast in frustration trying to be on top, but they don't ever truly achieve that, do they? No, the way to satiety is servitude and selflessness. If one never falls prey to the road of empowerment, then one never has anything to protect or lose.”

Dean mostly agreed with that.

The food gone, Naomi nevertheless continued to ply Dean with excellent tea and cider. She gave him two more of the snowballs.

“I must ask, dear, about the children,” Naomi said. “You're a touch older than the usual omega intended for childbirth. Your omega handler, the one who performed your purity test, wrote that you have no defects or anticipated difficulties with childbearing. Still, I worry a little, because there isn't any birth control that I know of for an omega. Are you confident you can safely be bred?”

Dean thought about that, and Naomi let him take the time to form his reply.

Dean didn't believe Castiel would ever want to bed him if he didn't... _push_ matters. Still, he was generally only truly fertile while in heat. And, Crowley had the cure for that. He decided to be as truthful as possible without giving away the fact that Castiel had bought him as a dodge. He told Naomi that he thought he could safely bear children.

And, he confessed that he wanted them. He did want children. It had been a desire deeply planted while his mother still lived. He, in fact, wanted a house full of children.

“Oh, you dear, sweet thing,” Naomi said, caressing Dean's cheek. “I hope you have patience, because my son is ridiculously recalcitrant about this topic. I believe he wants children, but you see how good he is about time? Again, the scatterbrain of an artist.”

Hesitantly, feeling slightly as if he betrayed Castiel, Dean asked about Castiel's rut cycle. His mother would know, having raised him.

“Well, it _would_ be four times a year if he didn't go to that club and kill criminals to stave it off,” Naomi huffed. “He's just about due for it, too. I swear, if it wasn't for the fact he's an absolute, _savage_ killer, I'd worry!” She took a brisk sip of tea before offering the last of it to Dean. “I attended the first three of his bouts before feeling satisfied as to his safety. The last one made me so _sick_ I swore to leave him to his own business, and not _think_ about what he becomes in the ring.”

Dean grimaced.

“Yes,” Naomi murmured. “You wouldn't recognize him, dear. Even for an alpha, Castiel is vicious when fighting. He's an intuitive killer. Most everyone goes out to make a big show, to get praise, to vent their spleens and be lauded a great fighter. But, my son, bless him, enters the arena with only the thought to slay his adversary. One, quick jerk of the neck, and a corpse is lying at his feet. And then, Castiel is perfectly civil for at least three months. More, if he's shed blood.”

Dean shivered. _Is he allowed a weapon_?

“Everyone is allowed one weapon,” Naomi informed. “My son's is but a thin strip of leather cord. He wears it up his left sleeve. If not for seeing with my very eyes what he can do with it, I wouldn't believe it a weapon at all.”

Dean wondered. Castiel hadn't believed Dean's fans could be considered weapons, but his own was innocuous string?

He would change the subject. They were getting bogged down in things they had no control over. _Would you like to see my fan katas?_ He asked.

“Oh, I would love to,” Naomi answered. “Are you well enough, Dean?”

He answered that his katas weren't too strenuous. He'd done them every single day since learning them, sometimes two or three times, and he'd been slack with them since arriving. He withdrew his fans, standing at the ready in the large room, calling up the memory of music in order to perform.

Dean moved gracefully. He knew the movements as well as he knew his own body, which was rather the point. It took three minutes for him to move through the basic twenty forms, and he lost himself in them quickly. This was freedom, the fluid flow of power and confidence. He loved this. It made him feel special and safe.

Naomi, her face glowing with pleasure, clapped the proper three times when he finished. “Oh, Dean,” she said as he sat on the floor beside her chair. “Dean, you were perfect!”

Dean bowed his head.

Yes, he was. That was entirely on purpose.

 

* * *

 

 

Dean slept nearly seven hours after giving Naomi the rendition of his katas. Castiel's room was so restful and warm that a type of serenity settled upon him. Drowsy, sensual, once he awakened he merely lolled in the bed, feeling the ultra smooth sheets and heavy quilts against his limbs. Oh, this was good. He felt healthy again, decently fed, the scent of his alpha all around him, and quiet to his soul.

Eventually, Dean thought to get up. He'd have to pee soon, and needed more to eat. He sat up to find Castiel in the room with him, sitting in a chair, watching him openly. Immediately, Dean got out and slid to the floor before him. He bowed his head, waiting for approval and attention.

“I'm glad you feel better,” Castiel said lowly, softly. He finger-combed Dean's hair three times before settling his hand upon the back of Dean's neck.

 _The back of the neck_. It was _intimate_. Dean thought maybe Castiel wasn't aware of just how intimate. That didn't stop him from keening in pleasure and shuffling forward. He bent and put his forehead on Castiel's left thigh, acutely aware of the slight pressure of those lovely fingers.

“There is a certain, joyous abandon in you like this,” Castiel mused, curling his fingers in Dean's hair. “You bask in easy approval. I suppose when sanction and condemnation are so clear, one gleans physical honesty.”

Dean wished Castiel would give him permission to touch.

“I brought up the midday meal for you,” Castiel told him. “Do what you need to do, and come back so that I may feed you.”

Dean bowed, his heart light and free, stood and left the room. He walked unaccosted all the way outside, and used the privy to the fullest extent. After, he washed his hands in the unoccupied kitchen. He came back up to Castiel's room and immediately settled himself at the alpha's feet.

“Good,” Castiel said, and Dean's entire body relaxed with that approval.

Lunch proved a sampling of roasted chicken, leftover bear, steamed broccoli, buttered bread and pitted cherries. Dean fully sank into the experience of being fed and cared for, rejoicing in Castiel's new naturalness. He leaned into every touch, eagerly awaited and accepted each morsel of food. Down to his last nerve ending, he experienced true delight. And, full, he leaned until his head rested upon Castiel's knee. He felt sleepy again.

“I see,” Castiel murmured. “You're tired.”

He was.

Castiel got up to usher Dean back to bed. “I'll stay with you,” he promised.

Soon, Dean was enjoying Castiel's nice bed with his head on Castiel's upper arm. The scent of his alpha filled him with comfort. He spread a hand over Castiel's hard, rippled abdomen, and left it there, too afraid to ask for more, but loving what he got. This was consolation from top to bottom, and he reveled in it.

“I make you feel better,” Castiel said softly. “By nothing more than my presence, apparently.”

Actually, it was a touch more complicated than that. Other alphas tended to disgust Dean. But, Castiel didn't. The opposite, actually. And, Castiel's parent's didn't. Probably the similarity in blood.

“You were so shy when we met, and you still are,” Castiel mused. “Blushing because having me behind you on the horse was an ordeal. Then, so relieved I'd adjust to your problem that you fell asleep against my back. You didn't awaken when I took you and put you on a blanket to keep on sleeping. Did you finally feel safe, Dean?”

 _That_ , Dean thought, _and the fact that you're apparently the alpha my body really wants to be_ _underneath._ He whispered a 'yes', though, against the top of Castiel's arm.

“I never imagined it was this complicated,” Castiel confessed. “I only knew omegas as abused and underprivileged. I didn't understand you have a culture separate from mine, more dividing than class and money. It's a caste system, and you're on the bottom. I'm on the top. And, that means I _should_ be taking care of you. I didn't know it would be this... _personal_ , though.”

Castiel ran a hand through his messy hair, and sighed. “Still, doesn't that just point out my arrogance? _I bought a human being_. I bought a human being in the idea it would help me keep my home. I didn't ask you to come here, and I assumed your compliance because I didn't intend to abuse you. That's _worse_ than everything I accused my parents of. Because, I railed against the system, then used it when it suited me with no thought to my hypocrisy.”

Dean didn't know which was worse, Castiel's honesty, or the content of it. Yeah, he'd kind of fucked up a little bit, buying someone and not understanding what it meant. But, Dean would be patient with Castiel. Because, Castiel was a good man, even if naïve, and seemed entirely willing to learn how to care for an omega. It grated on him, yeah, that was obvious.

“You hid your eyes from me a lot before the horrible thing I did to you, Dean,” Castiel went on. “When I insisted, you gave me that man-to-man eye contact, but you weren't easy with it. I thought you were merely worried about this house, or your new position. And, I'm sure that was part of it, but that wasn't the real reason, was it? You'd gone through owner after owner, defying them because you didn't feel _safe_. Me and my people were open and kind, so you relaxed, and that meant you could be what you were trained to be. But, I kept treating you like my contemporary, and it threw you into turmoil.”

Yeah, Castiel was right on the money, there. Dean stroked his stomach a little bit, admiring Castiel's construction. He loved the way Castiel smelled.

“I'm so sorry, Dean. I'm sorry that I've treated you like an animal by treating you like an alpha.”

Dean curled inward, pressing closer to Castiel. He didn't like that the alpha's scent had picked up remorse and sorrow.

“No, no,” Castiel said quickly, getting his arm fully under Dean's shoulders and hugging him tightly to his side. “This is not your fault. This is entirely on me. Tomorrow, I'm taking you with me to the school you came from. I want to see how you were raised. I can't do any better with you if I don't know what you expect. And, because I can't ask you directly, I have to view the source. It will take us two days to get there.”

Dean fully remembered.

“This time, however, you won't be remanded to the questionable protection of bodyguards,” Castiel informed. “You will be at my side, as my mother says that is the right thing to do. Besides, I don't like the notion someone could hurt you. You are very much not a person to waste.”

Good of Castiel to say so, but Dean already knew he wasn't to be wasted. He smiled into Castiel's shoulder. Spoiled little rich boy alpha. Still, a very likable and charismatic one. Dean felt content he had the right alpha, even if he didn't believe in true mates.

 

* * *

 

 

Dean thought if Castiel knew how he looked on horseback, he might get an ego. Well, probably not. Castiel wasn't vain. Still, astride some monster of a horse and fully in control of it, he was... He was amazing. And, Dean knew nothing about horses, except they were bigger than him. He felt perfectly content as the sole occupant of the carriage, with Bobby in control of the great beasts that pulled it.

The weather wasn't bad, so Castiel allowed for the top to be pulled down on the carriage. Dean appreciated the view and the fresh air. 

He had seven thick quilts to use as he saw fit. Currently, he had one around his shoulders, one in front of him, and the rest at his feet, providing a lounging position. It wasn't terribly uncomfortable, because the road hadn't been washed out by winter weather yet, and because Crowley had given him the pain-killer lineament.

Around mid day, Castiel guided Bobby toward a thick copse of trees at the side of a river. He dismounted, tying his horse's reins up close so they wouldn't trail loose, and let the animal graze at his own volition. As Bobby actually tied the team, Castiel stood by the side of the carriage and looked into Dean's nest of blankets. He smiled, and Dean smiled back.

“You look very snug,” Castiel said. “But, I want you to get out and stretch your legs. We have eight more hours of traveling before we reach Hideaway Inn.” He reached a hand in to help Dean down. “You're probably already stiff as it is.”

Dean's foot slid on the metal runner bar, but he caught himself. Oh, Castiel was right. His muscles didn't like riding very much. One hand on Castiel's shoulder, Dean gingerly took a few steps.

“Careful,” Castiel cautioned, getting an arm around Dean's waist. “People that aren't used to riding for long distances get leg cramps, and I've already been responsible for those, with you.”

Dean looked down at his feet, trying to decide if he should take these awkward shoes off. They felt funny, and he wasn't in touch with the ground anymore. Naomi had made them for him in a single night out of woven straw, and lined them with fur. They were warm, but he felt clumsy in them.

“Don't like your shoes?” Castiel asked.

Dean frowned. It would be ungrateful of him to find fault. He looked at Castiel's boots, wondering how he could be comfortable in hard rubber soles with leather going all the way up to his knees. Charlie had called them 'Hessians', whatever that meant. Dean supposed they completed Castiel's outfit, though. Black, black, and more black, broken up only by a white waistcoat and white cravat.

Dean thought it was a shame to cover up Castiel's beautiful throat.

Castiel took one of the blankets and threw it across his own shoulder, walking Dean slowly toward the river bank. “It's time to eat the noon meal,” he said. “Bobby will bring the basket for us. He knew we'd be stopping here, and brought his fishing pole, so he'll vanish for an hour or more. Just the two of us, Dean. Away from eyes and ears.”

That sounded completely wonderful. A little relaxation with only Castiel. One person to consider instead of many.

Castiel spread the blanket out on a deep, dry sand bar, and helped Dean to sit by lowering him. “It seems odd, but more sitting does help. At least, it does when you aren't moving.”

“ _My_ tuccus is fine,” Bobby said, putting a very large basket down beside of Dean. “I'll be back in about an hour and twenty minutes, Master Novak.” He had a fishing pole over his shoulder.

Dean watched him amble away. He thought Bobby was lying about the state of his butt.

“Old liar,” Castiel muttered, backing up Dean's opinion.

Dean grinned.

Castiel grinned right back.

Dean fell into watching the water. It sparkled. The clarity of it amazed him. Even from twenty feet away he could see the fish, rainbow trout and bass. If he had a spear he could get one. Only patient people used a pole, or people that were using fishing as an excuse to get away from everyone for a few hours.

“Pretty here, isn't it?” Castiel asked. “It belongs to my family, but not to me. Mother and Father have no intention to ruin it with buildings. I'm glad.”

Dean eyed him sideways. They'd ridden at least six hours, and were still on Novak property? Oh, right. They were the primary land owners of Panomu.

“It's just inconvenient for them, I think,” Castiel went on. “Highwaymen roam the roads. Since the Gun Purge caused all weaponry to get knocked back to a medieval level, it's not as dangerous. Still, who would want to live or set up shop where your chances of getting robbed and killed go up seventy percent?” He picked up the basket, pulling back the protective cloth to have a look inside. “I'm glad I was born after all threat of nuclear arms. It horrifies me to think about growing up wondering if some random country will take offense with yours, and blow you off the map.”

Dean didn't know much history. It hadn't been important for him to learn. He'd like to know more, though. Perhaps he could read some of Castiel's books. Or, maybe Dean would continue to get history lessons from the man himself. He seemed pretty book-learned.

Castiel took out a bottle of wine and pushed it into the sand to keep it upright. He next removed from the basket an earthenware crock with a clamping lid. “Ellen made our lunch, and we'll eat at the inn tonight,” he informed. “Tomorrow we'll spend all day at your school, and I'll speak to your instructor. He may put us up for the night. It depends on how much time we have, and what the weather does.” He placed a bound cloth on the blanket, his long, slender fingers making short work of the knot. Inside were bunches of large, black grapes, shining and beautiful.

Dean accepted a grape. Oh, it was sweet. Full of flavor. He watched Castiel open the crock. It held an assortment of cheese, and bear roast.

“We might be eating bear for weeks,” Castiel observed, frowning. “Not that I don't like it.”

Dean smirked. Castiel didn't enjoy regular meals. That was the problem. And, in feeding Dean, he had to eat, too.

“What are _you_ smiling at?” Castiel asked him, but his lips were turning up, too. “Quit making fun of me and eat, you sly thing.” He pushed a piece of cheese into Dean's mouth, and covered his lips with a finger as if making a 'shhh' gesture. “You're an omega, yes, but you really _are_ trouble.”

Dean unhooked a fan and threw his arm backward with it, flicking his wrist and making it snap open sharply. It was so loud that Castiel jerked. Chewing and smiling, Dean brought the fan in and leaned, exposing his throat and dragging one of the extended points over his pulse.

“I'm going to find out what that means,” Castiel said with confidence.

Dean nodded, and accepted a piece of bear meat. He fanned himself demurely.

“It really is quite fascinating, learning about you this way,” Castiel admitted softly. “I did balk at having to feed you, but I'm starting to enjoy it. I have no idea why.”

Dean knew. Alphas were power-trippers. They couldn't help it. Just as Dean couldn't refuse the authority of a _real_ alpha, a real alpha couldn't resist being in charge.

Castiel was a real alpha. Dean hadn't figured out exactly why, but he would.

“Mother told me she had a delightful breakfast with you,” Castiel said, giving Dean a piece of cheese so mellow and creamy that he fought to keep quiet. “Many thanks, Dean, for giving my mother some attention. She is very, very busy, and neglects herself. My father does, too. I don't expect it would be as easy to let him feed you as Mother, though.”

Dean knew Castiel wouldn't know what he was saying, but he'd probably remember the fan movements and figure it out later. So, he signed, _Your mother makes me feel like a prized cat_. After years of feeling like a kicked dog, Dean enjoyed the change. A dog keeps coming back for more abuse, and a cat does not.

Castiel, head tilted, copied one of his wrist movements. “That made me think of a cat's tail,” he said.

Dean smiled broadly, and nodded.

“A cat,” Castiel mused. “My mother isn't a cat, but you are. A panther, maybe.”

Flattered, Dean ate the next few bites of food quietly. Some of the cheese was salty. He licked his lips.

“Oh, my apologies,” Castiel said quickly. “You're getting parched from salt. The grapes aren't quite enough to forestall that.” He grabbed the wine and pulled the cork. His hands stilled as he looked at the bottle.

 _Oh_ , Dean thought. _No glasses._

Castiel's lowered head slowly moved. His eyes flicked to Dean.

 _It's fine_ , Dean signed.

“No, it _isn't_ fine,” Castiel said. “Mother expressly told me not to make you drink from a bottle or a jar. Something about symbolism, and a raw lack of manners.”

Dean let out a silent breath of slight frustration. Castiel was having a lot of trouble with this. Maybe it was selfish to expect him to behave like an entitled alpha. After all, that was what had impressed Dean in the first place, Castiel's manners and lack of pretension.

“Fuck this,” Castiel said. “I'm being a coward.” He took a swig from the bottle, and bent toward Dean.

Dean had about one entire second to assimilate what was happening before Castiel's smooth, soft and plush lips were against his, prying him open. Cool, sweet wine flowed into his mouth. He drank it down eagerly, his eyes stinging with pride for his alpha. The act was of compassion, and caring, intimate for those reasons. Sexuality didn't bog down or cheapen Castiel's act of kindness. Dean knew what a big step this had been for Castiel, the alpha who didn't want to abuse or belittle the omega he was just now realizing he _owned_.

Castiel pulled back. He saw Dean's eyes were wet, and suddenly he looked _smaller_ to Dean. “Oh,” he said. “You allowed me to hold back on that, but you really _wanted_ it, because it makes you feel _cherished_.” Castiel bent over with his hands to his eyes. “This is like giving a Ming vase or Faberge Egg to an _ape_.”

Dean had no idea what Castiel meant with vases and eggs, or even apes. But, he thought he understood the context. He decided that strictly following his training would do them both harm. He wiped his eyes with the corner of his kimono, and got on his back with his head in Castiel's lap, looking up at him. Then, he took Castiel's hand, and put it over the grapes.

Castiel's fingers curled. He picked up the bunch of grapes and tugged one free of the vine. Carefully, his harsh breathing shattering the silence of the grove, he resumed feeding Dean.

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to those who have commented on this work. I'm still figuring out how to actually manage my account, and some comments go in strange places (at least to me), so don't take it personally if I can't comment back to you individually. I'd like to. I enjoy all the feedback so much. It makes it easier to keep going. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Dean, curled up in a nest of thick quilts at the bottom of the carriage, finally enjoyed the experience of riding. Like this, on his side and tucked securely into a comfortable position, he could appreciate the rocking motion a lot more. He was warm, and the closed top gave him a sense of safety. He had two alphas looking after him, too, and either one would do anything to keep him out of harm's way.

It was so different from what he'd grown into. The closer they got to Sonny's, the more Dean thought about that. Sonny was a good man, a beta with a lot of sense, and he'd done his best to keep the boys in his care safe from damage. But, he was one man looking after a minimum of ten children. His school was funded entirely from charity, from alphas grateful to purchase an omega that had some idea of basic comportment and discipline. Years might go by without a bonus, depending upon the ages of the children received.

Dean had caused Sonny a lot of grief. He'd stayed long after any good omega would. Granted, he'd done adult work for the man, cleaning the home and catching fish, doing laundry, chopping wood, overseeing the smaller children, and trying to mentor the older ones in survival skills that would help them come to terms with their status. But, no matter how little he tried to eat, he still consumed more than a child. One meal a day equated to a child receiving three portions of food. And, Dean had brought great shame to Sonny simply by refusing to belong to the alphas that bought him.

Kevin came to mind, then. Kevin was a good kid, and didn't deserve being thrown to alpha wolves. He was attractive, yes, but also very smart. He'd be excellent given charge of a library, or account books. He needed more than an owner.

The carriage slowed, coming to a halt. Dean bestirred himself and climbed back onto the actual seat, groggy and kind of dim from long hours of introspection. He shook out his kimono, and checked his fans.

“Dean?” Castiel's voice came to him through flimsy canvas. “We've arrived at the inn. I'm unclamping the top so the carriage will more easily fit into the guest stable.”

In a few seconds Dean was looking at his alpha, and he smiled at seeing him. He looked a lot more composed than before. A long eight hours of riding had apparently put him back into equilibrium.

“It's good to see your face, too, Dean,” Castiel said, reaching in for him. He took Dean under his arms and lifted him out, setting him down directly against his side. “There are a lot of unscrupulous looking people in the inn tonight. Mostly barge workers and trader-grunts. I'm not one to judge by first appearances, truly, but I don't want you parted from me for one second. Stay close, and be alert.” Castiel nodded his head to Bobby, and Bobby began leading the horses to the stable.

Dean practically glued himself to Castiel. He knew this inn. It was actually more a bed and breakfast. He hoped they got a room that wasn't the one he'd had already.

“Novak,” Castiel said to the proprietor once they'd reached the main room's desk. “My father, Zachariah, sent a man ahead of me yesterday to inform of my arrival.”

“Yes, sir, of course,” the clerk said, smiling. “We have the best room reserved for you. Will you be taking our meal?”

Castiel looked at the paper attached to the room key. “What other rooms are available?” He asked.

“Don't you want our best-?”

“I want your most secure,” Castiel answered. “The top floor is for those unafraid of fire, people assured of their longevity. I want a room close to the side with the stables, with at least two doors close by as proven exits.” He put an arm around Dean. “You will give me what I want, or I will take my gold elsewhere.”

Dean shivered a little, but in pleasure. Castiel was assertive under the right conditions.

“Sir, I don't _have_ what you want,” the man said, cowering slightly. He was a beta, and should have some slight immunity to alpha posturing, but apparently didn't.

“Fine,” Castiel answered easily. “Then, I want two full settings for beds, as if a maid were changing out. Bring them to the stables. My best man and I will make beds out of hay bales. Send four of your evening meals there. I expect our nightly fee to be reduced according to the fact you can't accommodate me.”

“It will be done, sir. My deepest apologies for this,” the man said, bowing.

Castiel didn't reply, just ushered Dean back out into the cool dusk and took several deep breaths. “I'm sorry, Dean,” he said. “You will have to be content with the warmth I afford. I can't risk putting you somewhere indefensible.”

Dean touched his forehead to Castiel's collarbone in a show of faith.

“You're very kind,” Castiel said. “Come with me. We will make our beds as the servants bring the linens.”

As they waited in the stables for proper bed clothes, Dean wondered why Castiel had ordered four meals. There were only three of them. The maids came as he thought about this. Bobby and Castiel made two beds, and they brought down most of the quilts that were inside the carriage.

“Strange having you in here with me, sir,” Bobby said.

“I'm sure.” Castiel shot a smile at Bobby. “It works out, though. You are invested in Dean's safety, too. I couldn't put him in a top room, which was what they reserved for us. It's too precarious.”

“Damn right,” Bobby agreed.

They sat on their makeshift beds to eat. Spoonful after spoonful of rich, buttery venison stew went into Dean's mouth. When he felt thirsty. Castiel offered him water and wine from his own lips. Full, tired and content, Dean got under the covers and lolled. He liked the smell of straw, hay, and earth in here. Even the animals had a comforting scent. And, he saw why Castiel had ordered four meals. Bobby got two.

“Keep a hand on your knife, Bobby,” Castiel said as he got into 'bed' with Dean. “I know you always must do so, but be extra sharp. I don't trust these circumstances.”

“Me, neither,” Bobby muttered. “You hold onto Dean. I'm the first one any dumb son of a bitch has to go through. I ain't infallible, though. Gettin' old.”

Castiel chuckled as he drew Dean to his side. “Yes, and that's why I trust you, you curmudgeon.”

Bobby chuckled a little, too, and then they all settled a bit.

Dean's belly, full of warm, rich stew, gave few gurgles of contentment. He spread his hand over Castiel's hard, washboard stomach, and sighed. His alpha smelled of safety and strength right now. He nestled down against Castiel, pressing his nose into the crook between shoulder and chest, scenting the clean musk that exuded from Castiel's alpha glands.

There wasn't anything better than this. Kind, considerate, caring alpha. Dean nuzzled Castiel's skin, wanting to lick and _taste_. The air was sharp with cold, but Castiel kept him so warm with his own body. It was close in a way that made Dean feel special. No one else got this from the Novak scion.

“Castiel,” he whispered.

Castiel instantly tensed. “What is it, Dean? What do you need?”

Dean only huddled close, and breathed out his comfort.

“Oh,” Castiel said after a few moments. “Me?”

“You,” Dean affirmed.

“Well, you have me,” Castiel told him. “Sleep, Dean. Bobby and I are here to keep you safe. I didn't choose Bobby because he's the main groomsman. I chose him because he's a hard as nails and can take down a charging bull with a toothpick and some attitude. Nothing gets by him. And, on the slender chance that something does, I will protect you to the best of my ability. So, sleep.”

Dean cuddled up, and let go.

 

* * *

 

 

Dean awakened to screams of pain. He rolled to one side, sitting up only to find Castiel gone from the bed. Woozy from sleep and not being at home, Dean tried to focus. He oriented upon Bobby first, seeing the arcing silver of a blade going into a man's body over and over. “Huh, huh, huh!” Bobby expelled as he stabbed a man again and again.

And then, Dean's eyes found Castiel. A single oil lantern in the middle of the barn gave him enough light to see five bodies lying in the straw. And there his master stood, choking the life out of man with a thin strip of catgut.

Dean felt reality bending. Castiel's beautiful face had no expression whatsoever, just coldness, arm muscles writhing with power as he killed a man. This was a display of alpha power and judgment the likes of which Dean had never seen. And, it was over before he really even understood it.

Castiel dropped the man. “All right, Bobby?” He asked.

“All right? Yeah,” Bobby said. “You killed six before I even killed one!”

“I don't have to go to my club this cycle, anyway,” Castiel replied, sniffing. “Search the bodies, and keep Dean close to you. I'm going to see the proprietor.”

Dean kept a blanket around himself, and sat on the hay bed to watch. Bobby found flasks and trinkets, pocket knives and short swords. He took one of the pocket knives out, and brought it over to Dean. “You see this, kid?” He asked, holding the thing in his palm. “This little beauty proves what these men were. Open it up.”

When Dean pulled the blade out from it's casing, it clicked loudly. It was a beautiful knife, too, and sharp.

“This is a navaja,” Bobby informed. “It's a highwayman's knife. Just hearing it, most people will throw their money purses blindly in that direction. This thing is for slitting throats.”

Dean shivered. He gave the knife back.

“I'm going to give it to Madam Novak,” Bobby said. “She collects knives, and I doubt she's got one of these. It won't bother her that the thing is soaked in innocent blood.”

Castiel returned with the proprietor, and a group of servants. They carried the bodies out while Castiel stood and listened to the owner's profound apologies.

“They were let in here,” Castiel said calmly, coldly. “Your stable boy is missing, and he was positioned outside by you.”

“I didn't know he would do this!” The man wailed. “Please believe me!”

“I do,” Castiel assured him. “But, I expect you to find the young man if it takes you a week to do so. I will be here until then. I want him punished.”

“Yes, sir, I will start looking for him now!” The proprietor, bowing, left quickly.

“What did you find on them, Bobby?” Castiel asked, coming back to Dean and making him lie down.

“A navaja, among other things. Cheap shit, mostly.” Bobby settled back down, too. “Figured your mom might want the knife.”

“Oh, she'll be delighted,” Castiel told him. “She's been looking for an 'authentic' one. You can't get much more authentic than taking it off a real, dead highwayman.”

Dean pressed himself close to Castiel. He smelled of threat, but not towards Dean. Content everything would be fine, he went back to sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

The proprietor found his missing stable boy during the night. Castiel took a rod to him, hitting him five times. It was enough to hurt him a great deal, but not dangerous to his life, and Bobby muttered under his breath that he was being too lenient.

“He's just a boy,” Castiel said, throwing the hard, inflexible stick into the woodland. “Let him live to make up for his mistake.”

Bobby, still grumbling, got up onto the carriage.

Castiel aided Dean back inside the carriage, and carefully arranged his blankets for him. “I'm sorry we had no time for breakfast,” he said. “I can tell by the sky and the air that we have less than three days before a heavy snow. If we rush, we can be home before it hits.”

Dean bowed his head to him.

“You're entirely too forgiving of me,” Castiel said, giving him a cloth tied at the corners to make a pouch. “But, I'm going to take advantage of that and ask that you feed yourself this bread. If you get too thirsty before we arrive at the school, signal to Bobby and we'll stop.”

Again, Dean bowed his head.

In a few minutes they were on their way. Dean ate his bread, and tucked the large napkin into his obi. He wished he'd thought to bring a book, or something to do. The carriage was closed today because of hard wind. Dean hoped Castiel and Bobby were warm enough. Bobby had a good cloak, but Castiel only had a light traveling coat and a beaver top hat. Alphas tended to be macho, but that was ridiculous. Of course, with Castiel, it could well be just a matter of him not feeling the cold much. There had to be a reason he wanted to wear a loincloth and let the bees feed him. Even Naomi said he'd be swinging through the trees with a bone in his beard, if not forced into domestication.

Dean laughed to himself at the thought.

With nothing better to do but think, Dean decided to try and force sleep. He didn't want to think, because that meant he'd have to see Castiel's cold, unfeeling face as he strangled a man to death. Or, he'd have to mull over what seeing the school might do to him. So, he curled up on the floor in all his blankets, and let the rocking of the carriage lull him.

It seemed he'd only just fallen asleep when he felt the carriage slowing down. He smelled the familiar scent of Sonny's homemade laundry soap, and his heart gave a painful flip. This was it.

At a full stop, the carriage top was unclamped and flipped down. Castiel smiled at seeing Dean on the floor, and lifted him out carefully. “Maybe you are a cat,” he said.

Dean smiled, and bowed his head.

“Well, our arrival certainly caused a commotion,” Castiel said, taking Dean by his arm and walking with him toward the main doors. “I see a lot of heads peeking through curtains and shades.”

Sonny himself came to the door. He took one look at Dean, and groaned. “Don't tell me,” he said.

“I'm not bringing him back,” Castiel said, and introduced himself. “I wouldn't part with Dean for anything. I merely want to observe the school, and learn as much of the fan communication as I can.”

Dean grinned inwardly at seeing the astonishment on Sonny's face.

“You're... _pleased_ with Dean?”

“Yes,” Castiel said, and only because he knew Castiel did Dean hear the falsity in his tone of surprise. “Dean has been perfectly well behaved, absolutely lovely. It's only that he speaks entirely with his fans.”

Sonny looked right at Dean, agape. Dean winked at him.

Sonny's taxed nerves and astonishment combined to give him a sudden recurrence of his facial tick. He opened the doors and ushered them inside, even Bobby. “Good for you,” he whispered to Dean as the others fully entered the school. “You listened to me for once!”

Dean pretended he didn't hear him.

“Please, Master Novak,” Sonny said. “Let me take your coat and hat.”

Castiel handed over his coat, but threw the hat toward a rack behind the front doors. It neatly dropped onto a peg, spinning jauntily.

 _Show off,_ Dean thought.

“We're having a fan lesson now, Master Novak, if you want to attend. Dean may reacquaint himself with his friends, if that's all right.”

“Yes, that would be fine,” Castiel answered.

“May I sit in on the lesson, too?” Bobby asked.

“Oh! Yes, of course!” Sonny told him.

Dean took a spare cloak and draped it over his shoulders. He went out the back door of the parlor, heading for the laundry vats. As hoped, he spied Kevin quickly. The young man must have felt the eyes on him, for he turned warily. His face went slack in surprise. “Dean!”

“Hey, Kevin,” Dean greeted, giving him a hug. “My alpha came to get fan communication lessons, so I had time to look for you. How are you?”

“I'm okay,” Kevin said. “A bit depressed. You were the only one I could really talk to. The rest of these boys are so young.” He looked at Dean's clothing, and did a double-take. “Your alpha lets you wear trousers under a kimono?”

“Whatever I want to wear,” Dean said.

“Wow. You must really please him, Dean.” Kevin's envious tone kind of hurt Dean.

“He's a good man,” Dean said. An idea was coming to him. “Would you have any objection to working in a kitchen, Kevin?”

“No, not really,” Kevin said.

“I'll ask my alpha to buy you, if you'll agree to it,” Dean offered.

“Is he hairy?” Kevin's nose wrinkled. “I don't want a sweaty, hairy alpha parting my ass cheeks.”

Dean laughed out loud. “He wouldn't be doing that, Kevin. He doesn't buy people for that.”

“You mean he hasn't... with you?” Kevin asked. “What the hell's wrong with him? You're pretty enough to tempt any alpha.” He paused. “And, what the hell's wrong with _you_ , that you'd not get into a decent alpha's good graces?”

“It's not about sex, with Castiel,” Dean said, smiling and shaking his head. “He knows his rut cycle, and he makes sure he takes his frustration out on people who deserve it. He's different, Kevin. I mean, look at me. I'm wearing pants.”

“Yeah, I did notice,” Kevin said.

“One thing about it, though, if he agrees and he buys you, you have to be on perfect omega behavior while his parents are still visiting. They're traditionalists.”

“I can do that.” Kevin motioned for Dean to stand to one side of him so he could keep stirring the dirty laundry. “So, is it a big house you live in? Nice people?”

“I haven't seen all the rooms yet,” Dean admitted. “We tend to do most of our living in the west wing. And yeah, the people are great. You'd love Ellen, the cook. She's sweet. Her husband is about the biggest alpha I've ever seen, but he's nice, too. And, they have an alpha daughter, Jo. She's amazing. About your age, too.”

“Pretty?” Kevin asked swiftly.

“She's pretty,” Dean admitted. “We have a really cool butler, too. She was the one who picked me out of the line-up. Remember her?”

“She was the butler?” Kevin's eyes went wide. “I was surprised to see a woman in a suit, but she's the freakin' _butler_?”

“Yeah, and she's totally a good one. I won't say she's nice, but she's... compassionate. I guess that 's the word. She cares about omega rights. Everyone at Tor-Valen does, actually.”

“It sounds like a dream come true,” Kevin said, sighing. “It's not so bad here, but I want a home, Dean. I want something to do besides chore rotation.”

“I get it,” Dean replied. He reached into his pocket and got out the bag of cashews that Ellen had given him before leaving. He'd totally forgotten about them until thinking about giving Kevin something good. He opened the bag. “Stick your hand down in here and get some of these,” he invited. “My alpha eats tons of them, and keeps us all supplied.”

Kevin reached in and got a small handful. “Are these nuts?” He ate one, and his face lit up. “Oh, these are good!”

“They're called cashews,” Dean said. He had a few, too. “I think they're the reason my alpha is so studly.” He was joking, of course, but one never knew.

 

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the amount of poetry in this chapter. I looked for a way to take it out, and ended up just leaving it. If poetry isn't your thing, skip all the italicized paragraphs. Also, many thanks again to those who read and comment. I'm going to try to get this whole thing up in a matter of days, but I don't have a beta reader and I keep finding typos. Typos are bad. They bug me.

Dean kept Kevin company for three hours before Sonny came in search of them. “Dean, I gave your master a book I made on fan speaking. Fair warning. Now, you cannot get away with cursing at him.”

“I don't anyway,” Dean said, smiling. “Did he enjoy the class?”

“If he was an omega he couldn't have paid better attention,” Sonny admitted. “I'm glad you finally got an alpha, and a decent one. He's ready to leave now, though. I packed you some food, and your coachman has it. If you all hurry, you can avoid the bad weather that's coming.”

“I'm going to ask him to buy Kevin,” Dean said.

“Kevin is very expensive,” Sonny said. “He's young, good looking, and full of potential.”

“Nevertheless, all he can do is say 'yes' or 'no',” Dean argued.

“Master Novak has already donated one hundred gold to the school,” Sonny warned. “He may not have brought much more with him.”

“Do you want him out of here, or not?” Dean asked.

“I want Kevin well placed. Damn, you're just as stubborn as you always were. You must be putting on quite an act for your master.”

“It's not an act,” Dean told him. He took Kevin by the arm and forced him to walk with him.

Castiel was waiting beside his horse. He smiled at Dean, and then looked at Kevin. “A friend of yours, Dean?”

Dean knelt. He moved his head toward Kevin, who had also begun to kneel. Then, he put his forehead to the ground.

“Am I to understand you wish me to purchase this boy?” Castiel asked.

Dean nodded.

“How much for him?” Castiel asked Sonny.

“Three hundred gold,” Sonny said. “I'd ask more, but you have already been generous with me.”

“Bobby, count a thousand out,” Castiel ordered. “What is his name?”

“Kevin Tran,” Sonny said faintly. He was shocked over the amount. “He's just started training with the fan.”

“Well, that's perfectly fine.” Castiel squatted down in front of Kevin. “I'll provide you with a good home, Kevin. And, you will be able to choose your own mate. You'll have your own place to live on the grounds, and some duties to perform for me. Is this agreeable?”

Kevin nodded quickly.

Dean signaled to Sonny.

“Dean says that Kevin wants to work in the kitchen,” Sonny reported.

“Excellent. Ellen will be pleased to have a strong boy to mentor.” Castiel put his palm on Kevin's shoulder as a signal to get up. “Get in the carriage, young man. You too, Dean.”

As Castiel inquired over Kevin's possessions, Bobby shut and clamped the roof of the carriage. Dean began arranging blankets over them, smiling broadly. “Welcome to a new life, Kev,” he whispered.

“I'm in shock,” Kevin whispered back. “He paid triple what I was worth, and I'm a talentless little omega! He's not even going to spread me! _How_ is this my new life?”

“Just go with it,” Dean advised.

This time, they went at a harder pace than before. The time went quickly with Kevin to talk to, but the boy fell asleep at hour four. Dean expected he was exhausted from house work, and stayed quiet out of respect. He was a lot warmer with someone up against him, and fell asleep, too, some time later.

They did not stop at the inn.

Dean had a crick in his neck when he woke up. Kevin had stolen his bag of cashews, and was devouring them without shame.

“They stopped us for an hour to rest the horses, and the coachman fed me,” he reported. “Thankfully, he let me drink from his personal, collapsible cup, so I didn't have to fend off his bristly beard.”

Dean chuckled. “You might get away with feeding yourself, since you're not promised to anyone,” he said. “I'll tell you a secret. Castiel only got up enough nerve to feed me liquids the right way yesterday.”

“Huh.” Kevin finished the cashews, and handed over the empty bag to Dean. “I'll bet that was some experience. He's got a nice mouth.”

“He's got nice everything,” Dean said. “I almost 'presented' on the spot when I saw him.”

Kevin grinned. “That's funny, Dean.”

“I mean it,” Dean protested. “I got on my knees so fast I almost cracked them.”

Kevin began to laugh. He tried to keep quiet, so the result was a muffled, strangled noise. “Wow. I hope I don't do that to some alpha,” he said.

“Yeah, that'd be good,” Dean agreed.

A few more hours passed in silence. Again they stopped. This time it was to rest the horses, and to feed Dean. Kevin got out to sit with Bobby. Dean figured he had a slight crush on the older man. Too bad, because Bobby had a mate.

Castiel smelled like winter. He made sure the top was closed up tightly, and took off his neat little hat. “Wine first, Dean?” He asked.

Dean nodded, and sat on the floor. It would be easier this way. He leaned against Castiel's strong, long legs, drawing warmth.

It was no less a powerful experience the second time, being given wine from Castiel's own mouth. He felt drunk after only a few minutes of the patient, loving touches, and not from the alcohol. He rested with his head on Castiel's knee, and the alpha gently carded his fingers through Dean's hair. “My mother is right. You _are_ very sweet.” He fed Dean a grape. “It's hard for me to believe you've upset apple carts all over the place. You've never been anything but kind, to me.”

Dean closed his eyes and ate whatever Castiel felt appropriate. This was a nice, relaxing time for him, and he thought Castiel was enjoying it, too.

“Are you and Kevin warm enough in here, Dean?”

Dean nodded. He ate a bite of bread.

“Good, I'm glad. We're going to drive all through the night. It won't be fast, as the horses are already taxed. But, we need to be home. The snow is coming earlier. A front must have moved across.”

Dean accepted more wine. He felt stunned at how quiet he'd gotten in his soul. Castiel's commitment to take care of him the proper way made him feel easy in his mind and body.

“Kevin ate all your cashews,” Castiel chuckled, plucking at Dean's empty bag. “I smelled them on his breath.” He pressed another, full bag into Dean's hand. “Have mine, Dean. I have more stashed in a bag and tied to my saddle. I wonder why you don't need me to feed these to you, too.”

 _Running food_ , Dean signed.

“Food... on the run?” Castiel asked.

Oh, he was a fast learner, Dean thought, and nodded.

“So if we were still moving, you wouldn't need me to feed you?”

Dean nodded.

“There are a lot of rules for how to treat you. I'm glad you're a patient man.”

Dean smiled.

Castiel gently touched Dean's curved lips with tips of his fingers. “You have a beautiful smile, Dean. I always want to see you smiling.”

Dean blushed. He couldn't duck his head because he was resting against Castiel's knee. Instead, he lowered his eyes.

“Dear God,” Castiel whispered, sounding awed. “If you do that in front of mixed company I'll be fending alphas off of you with a stick.”

Dean chuckled a little bit, which made Castiel laugh, too.

“All right. I have to get back out into the cold,” Castiel said, and he patted the seat. “If you need anything, or if Kevin does, don't hesitate to let it be known. This journey will be hard enough.” He grabbed his hat, and tucked a blanket around Dean. “See you in a few hours, charming.”

Dean was smirking when Kevin got back in. Kevin waited until traveling noise would cover up conversation before leaning close to Dean. “I hope I get a good alpha soon, because the smell of yours is about all I can stand,” he confessed. “Damn, he's potent! No wonder you fell on your knees first thing!”

“Put your nose up against me for awhile,” Dean suggested. “Castiel _is_ really powerful. Just sitting with him makes me all faint and obedient.”

Kevin did as he suggested for a few minutes. “I'm tired,” he said. “This is horrible, getting bounced around in this thing.”

“Put your legs up,” Dean said. He arranged most of the blankets in the floor, reserving two. “Curl up at the bottom. I swear it helps. I'll cover you once you're good.”

“What about your legs and feet?” Kevin asked.

“I can bear to sit sideways awhile. We can take turns, okay?”

“Yeah, all right.”

Dean went through his katas mentally while Kevin slept. He hoped this journey would draw to a close soon.

 

* * *

 

 

“Oh, I'm so glad you're back,” Ellen said, ushering them all into the warm kitchen. She had something warm and spicy-smelling in mugs, and handed them out. “Charles saw you all coming, and ran ahead so I could have hot chocolate ready.”

“Thank you very much, Ellen,” Castiel said politely. “Allow me to introduce you to Kevin. He wants to work with you in the kitchen.”

“Well, aren't you a handsome little omega,” Ellen said, hands on her hips and smiling. “You drink your hot chocolate, and I'll take you home with me. You need a warm place to sleep until we get a cabin ready for you.”

Kevin bowed to Ellen. He took one of Dean's fans, and said 'thank you'.

Dean couldn't believe what he was drinking. It was glorious. He groaned into his cup, prompting a chuckle from Bobby.

“Never had it before, kid? Good, huh?”

Dean heard Naomi and Zachariah talking, their voices getting closer. He nudged Kevin in warning, and the boy quickly put his mug down. When the door opened, he and Dean knelt down with their heads bowed.

“Oh,” Naomi said. “I'm relieved you're all back safely. Who is this young man with Dean?”

“This is Kevin Tran,” Castiel reported. “I purchased him from Dean's school. He apparently wants to work in the kitchen, but I'm leaving his options open. He's Dean's special friend.”

“Good,” Zachariah said enthusiastically. “It's _always_ good when you have friends and family working together. I approve.”

“So do I,” Naomi said. “Let's have a look at you, Kevin.”

Kevin obediently looked up at Naomi.

“Oh my,” she said. “What beautiful eyes you have, Kevin. Alert, too. Intelligence is always more important than looks, but it seems you have both, like Dean. Will you be needing clothing, dear?”

“Yes, Madam Novak,” Kevin answered, bowing.

“We'll get you suited,” she promised. “Now, Dean, I have some news for you. A representative of the state will be coming after the noon meal tomorrow to witness the scarring on your back. It's a formality, because St. Addams whipped you in front of his entire staff, and he's not able to lie about it. Or, he could, if he were the domineering sort of alpha that has control over his people, but he doesn't. They aren't loyal to him.”

“What a surprise,” Castiel said dryly, and Kevin gave an involuntary little giggle that had everyone else snorting in humor.

“Oh, he's adorable,” Naomi said, smiling. She ran a hand through his hair. “What a good thing you've done, Castiel. It would be a shame to have some knot-head ruin his spirit.”

“All I needed to know was that he was Dean's friend,” Castiel replied.

“Of course,” Zachariah said. “Back to the topic. We anticipate taking all of St. Addams' holdings, down to the servants. This manor's budget will go up for you, son. I don't want the old man's house. It will stand to ruin, and shelter owls, or something. You're going to have a doubling in your staff, probably more. We haven't done a head count because that looks presumptuous of a victory.”

“Owls,” Kevin whispered, and tittered a little bit.

Zachariah laughed heartily. “I like him,” he announced. He, too, patted Kevin's head. “You and Dean sit on some chairs, my boy. The trip was too long to have you on your knees like this.”

Dean, being older, wasn't able to scramble up like Kevin did.

“Father,” Castiel said. “The manor can shelter many people, but I'll have to build more cabins.”

“Already thought of that,” Zachariah said cheerfully. “I have a man on reserve coming down from Old Bristol. He'll draw up plans and get the work started. Have to be discreet, because again, we don't want to look like we're cocky. Oh, and one more thing, son. Dean isn't to be viewed by the state representative without you. I don't trust that man to keep his hands off of him. He's a good businessman, and has a reputation for being impartial, but he's also got a reputation for chasing omega males.”

“Don't most alphas?” Castiel asked. “No, of course I won't submit Dean to a pawing letch. I'll make sure all my omega staff know to stay hidden or away, while he's here.”

“That's for the best,” Naomi agreed. “Your father and I will be leaving in a week, if all goes well with the suit against St. Addams. In the meantime, we've decided to give you and your people a break from us, and fend for ourselves in the East Wing with our own servants. If you want to see us, it will be easy to do so.”

“Beggin your pardon, Madame Novak,” Bobby said, his hat in his hand. “We have something for you.”

“Oh, a present for me?” Naomi smiled brightly.

“Yes, madam,” Bobby said. “We were attacked at the inn by brigands, and we're fine, but one of them had something I believe you've been looking for.” He held out the navaja.

“Oh!” Naomi clapped her hands together before taking the knife. “This is beautiful, Bobby! Look at the workmanship!” She opened the noisy knife, and Dean saw Zachariah shiver. “Thank you!”

Bobby bowed deeply.

“Dear, I wish you didn't have such an unhealthy fascination with sharp objects,” Zachariah was saying as they left the kitchen.

“Good job,” Castiel said to Bobby. “She'll be ratcheting that thing open and shut all night long, and my father will dream he's fighting off cut-purses and pirates.”

Kevin laughed so hard he almost fell onto the floor.

 

* * *

 

 

All night, Dean dreamed of Castiel's lips. He dreamed of them talking, of the way they looked while drinking the hot chocolate, and how they looked when he smiled or laughed. He woke up with a raging hard-on, lying in a puddle of slick. Panic set in, then humiliation, and he threw himself off the bed to the floor.

Castiel, in his bed clothes, was sitting on the other side of the room, burning incense and looking up at the ceiling. “Dean, please don't hurt yourself,” he asked softly. “Even with this scented smoke around me I can smell your fear and embarrassment. Erotic dreams are nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone has them... If they're lucky.”

Dean felt a little better, then. He left the bedroom to get clean linens from the supply closet. He grumbled to himself as he chose some good, smooth sheets. He went to the kitchen, drew a hot bath in the big, zinc tub, and made short work of cleaning himself. He'd have loved to jerk off, but he knew that even with a bath, Castiel would smell that.

He carried the sheets and blankets back upstairs to Castiel's bedroom to find a very large bottle of wine and a glass set out on Castiel's chest of drawers. The man himself had two more cones of incense burning, and was reading a book.

Dean changed the bed. He felt so tired. The sexy dreams had worn him out as well as the loss of actual sleep. Plus, the stress of traveling had put him in an odd kind of fatigue. He poured wine for them and carried the glass over to Castiel, offering it. He then sank down at his master's feet and received one entire glass swiftly just by not pulling away.

Castiel smiled, and got up to retrieve the bottle. He poured again. “Please, don't be embarrassed,” he said. “I frequently have dreams that make me thrust against the bed. We're not old or dead, so these things do happen.” He took a sip of wine, and sighed in pleasure. “Would you like me to read to you? This is an excellent book of poetry, penned by Khalil Gibran.”

Dean nodded, and put his temple against Castiel's knee.

Castiel cleared his throat. “This one is entitled 'On Pain”, he said.

 

“ _Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses_ _your understanding._

_Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its_ _heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain._

_And could you keep your heart in wonder at the_ _daily miracles of your life, your pain would not seem_ _less wondrous than your joy;_

_And you would accept the seasons of your heart,_ _even as you have always accepted the seasons that_ _pass over your fields._

_And you would watch with serenity through the_ _winters of your grief._

 

_Much of your pain is self-chosen._

 

_It is the bitter potion by which the physician within_ _you heals your sick self._

_Therefore trust the physician, and drink his remedy_ _in silence and tranquility:_

_For his hand, though heavy and hard, is guided by_ _the tender hand of the Unseen,_

_And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips, has_ _been fashioned of the clay which the Potter has_ _moistened with His own sacred tears_. “

 

Dean loved that. Not only did the message speak to him, but so did Castiel's rendition of it. He rubbed his cheek against Castiel's knee, and let out a long breath of relief.

“Yes, I feel the same way,” Castiel said, understanding his silent communication. “The Prophet, as he was called, had a wisdom that many would do well to heed.” He took a drink of wine and bent to offer it to Dean with his own lips.

Dean drank, and sighed. He loved it when Castiel offered him food and drink from his own body. That was probably why he dreamed of the man's beautiful mouth.

“Would you like to hear another one, Dean?” Castiel asked.

“Yes, please,” Dean said aloud.

“All right,” Castiel replied, not calling attention to Dean's vocal answer. “How about 'On Beauty'?” Again he cleared his throat before beginning.

 

“ _And a poet said, "Speak to us of Beauty."_

 

_Where shall you seek beauty, and how shall you find her unless she herself be your way and your guide?_

_And how shall you speak of her except she be the weaver of your speech?_

_The aggrieved and the injured say, "Beauty is kind and gentle._

_Like a young mother half-shy of her own glory she walks among us."_

_And the passionate say, "Nay, beauty is a thing of might and dread.  l_ _ike the tempest she shakes the earth beneath us and the sky above us."_

_The tired and the weary say, "beauty is of soft whisperings. She speaks in our spirit._ _Her voice yields to our silences like a faint light that quivers in fear of the shadow."_

 

_But the restless say, "We have heard her shouting among the mountains,_

_And with her cries came the sound of hoofs, and the beating of wings and the roaring of lions."_

_At night the watchmen of the city say, "Beauty shall rise with the dawn from the east."_

_And at noontide the toilers and the wayfarers say, "we have seen her leaning over the earth from the windows of the sunset."_

 

_In winter say the snow-bound, "She shall come with the spring leaping upon the hills."_

_And in the summer heat the reapers say, "We have seen her dancing with the autumn leaves, and we saw a drift of snow in her hair."_

_All these things have you said of beauty._ _Yet in truth you spoke not of her but of needs unsatisfied,_

 

_And beauty is not a need but an ecstasy._ _It is not a mouth thirsting nor an empty hand stretched forth,_

_But rather a heart enflamed and a soul enchanted._

_It is not the image you would see nor the song you would hear,_

_But rather an image you see though you close your eyes and a song you hear though you shut your ears._

_It is not the sap within the furrowed bark, nor a wing attached to a claw,_ _but rather a garden forever in bloom and a flock of angels for ever in flight._

 

_People of Orphalese, beauty is life when life unveils her holy face._

_But you are life and you are the veil._

_Beauty is eternity gazing at itself in a mirror._

_But you are eternity and you are the mirror_.”

 

Castiel closed his book. He ran a hand through Dean's hair. “Dean, are you all right?”

“I... I love listening to you,” Dean confessed. “Would you read one more to me, please?”

“Of course I will,” Castiel told him.

“ _Then a woman said, "Speak to us of Joy and Sorrow."_

_And he answered:_

 

_Your joy is your sorrow unmasked._

_And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears._

_And how else can it be?_

_The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain._

_Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?_

_And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?_

_When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy._

_When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight._

_Some of you say, "Joy is greater than sorrow," and others say, "Nay, sorrow is the greater."_

 

_But I say unto you, they are inseparable._

 

_Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed._

_Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy._

_Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced._

_When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and his silver, needs must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall.”_

 

Castiel closed his book and stood, drawing Dean up with him. “Let's go back to bed, Dean,” he said. “You feel better now, and we both need so much more sleep. Tomorrow, when you are rested, we'll eat breakfast, talk to your friend, Kevin, and await the state representative. After, if you feel agreeable, we'll take Kevin fishing. Hopefully, we will bring back a good catch for Ellen and her new staff to prepare. Life is good for us, and we should enjoy it.”

Dean went to the bed and burrowed under the covers feeling hopeful, and without shame. He could smell his arousal in the mattress, but faintly, and he quickly got up against Castiel. His throat ached with the power of words unsaid, and he thought after a few minutes of clutching Castiel that he should go ahead and give them voice. “I have such grateful feelings for you, Castiel,” he whispered.

Castiel curled his body toward Dean's immediately. “I do, too,” he said. “You are a good man, Dean. I'm thankful to have you in my life. I find it no hardship to share my bed with you. I want to see you smiling and happy, always.” He pulled Dean closer, and breathed into his hair. “I'm so blessed you feel better able to talk to me, now. Sleep. I'll watch over you.”

“Thank you,” Dean sighed. He let go of all his concerns, and surrendered to sleep.

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

Late morning light proved to Dean he was alone. He lazed around in the soft, warm bed a precious few minutes before dragging himself out and getting dressed. Because he'd have to bare his back for some strange guy later, he put on one of the shirts Crowley had designed, a pair of soft trousers, and the weird shoes Naomi had made for him herself. He searched for the piss pot, found it, and carried it downstairs for emptying.

As he rinsed out the fancy urn made for waste, Dean looked out over the grounds. This was a beautiful place. He heard birds. The cabins that half-encircled the manor had fragrant wood smoke pouring from the chimneys. Everything was peaceful and poetic. He carried the clean pot back to Castiel's bedroom, combed his hair with his alpha's own comb, and went to the kitchen.

He found himself standing before a man he didn't know, who leaned over Ellen while speaking in her ear. Ellen's back seemed made of steel.

The representative was early, and had made himself right at home with Castiel's omega staff.

Dean unhooked his fans. “I'm fairly certain that Master Novak wouldn't approve of your manners,” he said.

The alpha jerked away from Ellen, sniffing the air as he set eyes on Dean. “Well, look at you,” he breathed.

“Yeah, look at me,” Dean replied. He snapped a fan open and waved it near his face, a deliberate enticement. It kicked up his scent, directed it right at the alpha. Ellen fled, and Dean hoped she was going either for Castiel, or for her own husband.

“Are you Novak's toy?” Maxil asked, taking a step closer.

“I'm the one you're supposed to examine today,” Dean said. “Don't come any closer to me, or I _will_ defend myself.”

“With fans?” The man leered at him. “I've never yet seen an omega do more with their fans than flirt.”

“Then, you haven't seen a threatened omega before, at least not any trained to defense.” Dean closed his left fan with another sharp snap, and held both in a loose-ready position. “Why don't you wait for Master Novak, and conclude your business?”

“I don't take kindly to omegas that don't know their place,” the man told him.

“I don't take kindly to bullies that take advantage of omegas,” Dean parried.

“What is going on in here?” Castiel's voice thundered from behind Dean. “Are you seriously threatening my own people on my own property?”

The alpha took three quick steps back. “Master Novak! I was about to come looking for you, but this uppity omega-.”

“Don't say another word.” Castiel moved between Dean and the man. “You were harassing my cook, and when Dean stepped in, you turned your attention to him. This is not the way polite men conduct business.”

“They're only omegas,” Maxil protested.

“They're _people_ ,” Castiel corrected. “I thought I told you not to speak anymore.” And, with that, Castiel threw a punch.

It was so fast and hard that Dean didn't even track the movement. The state representative was blown out the back kitchen door by it, blood from his nose and mouth spraying violently.

“Dean,” Castiel said, his voice horribly low and calm. “Go get my father and mother, please.” He stepped out the door, and went right after his victim.

Dean sprinted from the kitchen, took a shortcut through the foyer, and made a sharp turn. He didn't know this part of the manor. “Madam Naomi? Master Zachariah!” He shouted, using their titles but also their first names, because they were his family now and would respond faster by hearing the familial. “The state representative is here, and Castiel is beating the crap out of him!”

“What in the devil?” Zachariah popped out from behind a door, his cravat askew and the buttons undone on his day coat. “Where are they, Dean?”

“Back behind the kitchen,” Dean said. “I came downstairs to get breakfast, and the man was here, early, and all over Ellen. I tempted him away from her, and Castiel walked in on it!”

“I hope he hasn't killed him,” Zachariah muttered. “Wait for Naomi, Dean. I know she's heard you. We were attending our morning ablutions.” He ran down the hall, and Dean turned to see Naomi on her way out, now.

“The man should not have approached you or Ellen,” Naomi said, hooking him by the arm. They walked quickly after Zachariah. “I hope Castiel hasn't killed him,” she said, echoing her husband. “If he has, we'll have to do something with the body.”

The sounds of violence were actually quite disgusting. Wet, smacking noises, gurgling, even pleading. Then, Zachariah shouting, trying to get his son to stop beating on the representative. A lot of the staff were gathered around, shouting encouragement to Castiel with cries of “Yes, sir!” and “Go on, there, Master Novak!”

Castiel had _ruined_ the man in three minutes. Dean doubted Maxil even knew what was happening anymore. His bloody, pulverized face didn't look human.

“Still feel free to help yourself to my omegas?” Castiel asked, his boot on the man's throat. There was blood everywhere in the dust, on Castiel's hands, even splashed up onto his handsome, cold face. “If you weren't a state representative, I'd snap your neck,” he added. He stepped back and let the man roll up onto his side.

Dean shivered. Castiel was frightening like this. But, a deep, deeply buried part of Dean's personality _liked_ it. That was one dominant alpha standing there, wearing someone else's blood, and hard as iron. Looking seven shades of amazing, too, with those bright blue eyes, and that beautiful mouth pulled up in a sneer of contempt.

It turned Dean on.

Castiel sniffed the air, and turned to look directly at Dean.

 _I am so busted_ , Dean thought. _There's no way he's catching a whiff of breakfast cooking. This is me, getting_ _ **off**_ _on him being a killer, and that's him, scenting it._ _ **Fuck**_ _._

Castiel took two steps toward Dean, and Zachariah intercepted, getting in his way. “Son,” he said calmly. “Business first. We have to patch Maxil up and send him back to town before anything else. We have to send for another representative, and log our complaint to his superiors.” Even as he spoke, Naomi was taking initiative, tugging Dean away and back inside the house.

She frog-marched Dean to her own rooms, and shut the door. She locked it, shoving a chair up under the knob. “It won't stop him,” she remarked calmly. “I hope Zach is able to talk him down.” She dusted her hands off, and smiled at Dean. “You chose an inconvenient time to throw out the scent, dear. Poor Castiel isn't made of steel.”

“No, he's iron,” Dean said, sitting heavily on Naomi's dressing stool. “I took all his sense right away. I didn't mean to.”

“Of course you didn't. You didn't know that seeing him that way would be stimulating. I confess I find it frightening to see Castiel like that, but I'm his mother, not his mate.” Naomi petted Dean's head in a soothing way. “But, I have to say, it was good to see him respond to you. He uses fighting too often as a way to stave off the rut. It's not healthy.”

Dean felt cold all of a sudden. He hugged himself, and his teeth began chattering. “What's happened? Why am I cold?”

Naomi put a blanket over him. “Dear me,” she said. “That must have been a powerful little exchange of pheromones in just a few seconds. That, my boy, is what happens when you get promised some intimacy and it gets taken away from you. Castiel is probably, as we speak, chewing nails.”

“Is he in trouble for beating up the man from the state?” Dean asked.

“Probably, but one thing an alpha does _not_ do is let another alpha infringe upon his holdings.” Naomi sat down, facing Dean. “All we have to do is wring a confession out of Maxil. I hope Castiel hasn't broken all his fingers for him. That will be a problem in trying to get him to write the confession.”

“This is all normal to you,” Dean blurted.

“What, Castiel taking offense with another alpha?” Naomi rolled her eyes. “Yes. My son is very kind, and mostly tends to his own business, but there's no question about his designation. He's very much an alpha, and he doesn't like seeing omegas being used and hurt. That you and Ellen belong to him, adds a nuance to his wrath.”

She took a small cloth from her dressing table, wetting it with something from a blue bottle in order to wipe her face daintily. “You should have seen him as a teenaged boy. Zachariah took an indecent delight in watching his first-born son brutalize any alpha that tried to dominate him. It was about that time that I realized Castiel wasn't going to fall into the alpha trap of being a knot-head. He was so precise with how he destroyed his opposition, that I worried...” She sighed, and tossed down the cloth. “Well, I worried because the way he does things makes him look like a sociopath.”

“He's not, though,” Dean said. “He does care about people.”

“Oh, yes,” Naomi agreed quickly. “And, he knows right from wrong. That's the whole problem. Most people don't anymore, dear. They just take what they want, and to hell with the needs and feelings of others. That doesn't sit right with my oldest son.”

Stomping boots echoed down the hall. Naomi considered them a moment. “Well, here he comes,” she said. “See if you can't talk him down, Dean. He's not going to listen to me, not right away.” She took the chair out from under the knob, and unlocked the door. “I don't know what I was thinking; this would only have made him mad.” She opened the door. “Castiel, tell me right now if you have a shred of cognizance,” she ordered.

“I'm sane,” Castiel ground out, appearing in the threshold. “Father _insisted_ I be.” He held his hand out. “Dean, we're going to need you as witness. Ellen is already waiting in the carriage.”

Dean got up and took Castiel's hand. He let the blanket slide off as he looked into those brilliant, irritated eyes. “You okay, Cas?”

Castiel blinked at hearing the nickname. Then, he began to smile. All that anger bled right out of him as Dean watched. “I'm fine, Dean,” he said. “Thank you for asking.”

“Well, that was like magic,” Naomi mused. “How splendid. Both of you vacate, now. See if you can get the trip to serve two ways, and get Erikson to witness for Dean's scarring, Castiel. He can intercede, file the suit against St. Addams without our having to deal with any more intruders on the estate.”

“Yes, Mother,” Castiel said, leading Dean out.

Once Dean reached the back of the kitchen, he snatched an apple for quick eating. Castiel opened the door for him, and he stopped dead at the sight of Maxil, thrown over one of the carriage horses and tied down with rope to stop him sliding. That beaten smell, all blood and humiliation, made the horses spooky. Bobby wrestled with the reins a little.

Dean made himself move past the disgraced alpha, and get into the carriage. Castiel shut them in. Dean heard him getting up on the top, felt the rocking motion of him settling beside Bobby. “Wow, Ellen,” he said as they started moving. He bit down into his apple.

“Yes, it was quite a morning,” Ellen said, her voice terse. “What would you have done if he'd put a hand on you, Dean?”

“Ellen, you have no idea,” Dean said. “Any time someone gets in your space to hurt you, you can hurt them. I'll show you how, if you want.”

“That might be for the best.” Ellen smoothed her skirts with a casual sweep of her hands. “It's usually wiser to have a complete, living body to prosecute. Maxil might not survive the ride into town.”

 

* * *

 

 

Maxil survived. He was thrown into a holding cell at the House of Authority to await a hearing. Castiel pressed charges, giving his testimony as to what happened. Then, Dean and Ellen were required to answer questions away from Castiel. Ellen went first. When Dean was led in to give his own account of things, he sat on the floor in front of the officiator's desk. He used a respectful position, but not a fawning one. True respect had to be earned.

“Tell us what happened,” the man said. He had another man beside of him. Both were alphas, of course, because alphas were expected to have a higher sense of social justice. That was a laugh.

“I came downstairs to wash out a chamber pot at the pump at the rear of the manor, directly behind the kitchen. There wasn't anyone there when I came through, but when I returned in order to get breakfast, Master Novak's head cook, Ellen, was being crowded by an unfamiliar alpha man. No matter where she moved, he moved with her, speaking in her ear.”

“You could see she was in distress,” the man said, writing quickly. “Being an omega, you're familiar with it, I'm sure.” His lips pressed together briefly in distaste.

“She smelled of fear,” Dean admitted. “And, the man reeked of beginning rut. I'm sure that meant he didn't have full use of his reasoning, but why go to work like that?” Dean asked.

“Indeed. A good question. One that I will be asking the governor,” the man replied. “Why send a notoriously randy alpha to a household with a high omega population? That's the better question, my young omega.” He scratched on his paper some more. “What happened next?”

“I got him to pay more attention to me than to Ellen, and she left the kitchen. She must have directly gone for Master Novak, because he entered before the man could put a hand on me.”

“What did he say to you?” The man asked quickly. “Did he threaten you?”

“Do you want me to say it all word for word?” Dean asked.

“You can do that?” The second man asked. He had piercing grey eyes and a long beard.

“Yes,” Dean answered, and proceeded to deliver the entire conversation, even Castiel's part. It only took a few minutes. The officiator wrote furiously the entire time.

“His story is in complete account with the others,” the grey-eyed man said. “In fact, he fills in the gaps remarkably.”

“Yes,” the officiator said. “I'm satisfied Novak was acting in the best interest of his household. By heaven, what's the world coming to when a respectable, landed alpha can't just deal out the justice from his own house? I'd have killed that horny little prick of an alpha, and left him to rot in the woodland. In _my_ day you didn't have to haul people back and forth like this. Imagine if he'd managed to damage or rape one of these omegas! We'd have had them here, adding to their trauma!”

“Well, this one has already had that,” the grey-eyed man said as if Dean wasn't in the room. “He's the one involved in the St. Addams prosecution, as well. Someone here needs to look at his back. Call Novak in, because I'm not taking a beating for touching this omega.”

The officiator nodded as if that was the best idea ever while Dean hid a smile. He rang a bell, and Castiel opened the doors, striding into the room like he owned it.

“Your omega has verified every account, down to the last detail,” the officiator informed. “Stay here with him while we examine his back for your other suit. We're satisfied you were all acting correctly with Maxil.”

Castiel nodded. He put a hand on Dean's shoulder. “All you have to do is show them your back,” he said. “You can face me, during, Dean. That will help a little bit.”

“Yes, alpha,” Dean said, loud enough for the other men to hear. He needed to look very obedient while in public, especially for this. Because, he had a reputation for the opposite. He loosened the ties on his neckline, released his cuffs, and drew off the shirt.

The inhale of shock, Dean had heard before. It rather bored him, now.

“St. Addams did this to you, omega?” The grey-eyed man asked quietly.

“With an ox whip in front of a hundred and twenty people,” Dean answered. “I was awake for all of it. He ordered his favorite omega house maid to pour salt into the wounds to keep me alert.” Dean paused. “She cried every time she had to do it.”

“I have no idea how you survived this,” the officiator said. “What is the bandage underneath your neck?”

“I didn't want to ever be taken from Master Novak, so I had myself branded by his main cowhand,” Dean answered. “May I put my shirt back on?”

“Yes. Yes, do,” the grey-eyed man told him swiftly. “I must say, that's a change in you, Dean Winchester. You've thrown down against anyone who bought you.”

“They weren't _my_ alpha,” Dean said calmly, looking into Castiel's intent blue stare. “I knew the difference.”

“Apparently,” the man replied, a smile in his voice. “Well, Novak, it seems as if both your lawsuits can go forward this morning. No one could look at this young man's back and think he deserved what he got. I'll serve St. Addams myself, if it pleases you.”

“It does,” Castiel said, helping Dean to dress. “I want St. Addams ruined.”

“I don't anticipate anything else for you, my good man. Do yourself and your omega a favor, and get lunch before you return home. Madam Prince opened a new restaurant three blocks down. It's expensive, but the food is wonderful.”

“I'll take your advice,” Castiel promised, and he put Dean's hand on his elbow. “I'll be in touch.”

They didn't speak until they reached the carriage, where Bobby and Ellen waited patiently. “Everything seems to be satisfactory so far,” Castiel said. “I'm taking you all to lunch.”

“We can't be eating with you, Master Novak,” Bobby said. “It wouldn't look right to these townies. Have lunch brought out to me and Ellen, if you're feeling generous, and we'll go to the park and people watch awhile.”

“Oh, Bobby, that sounds wonderful,” Ellen said. “I like seeing the new fashions.”

“As you both wish,” Castiel acquiesced.

As they rattled down the cobblestone road, Ellen winked at Dean. “Bobby doesn't care what the townies think. He wants you to have a nice dinner with Master Novak, alone.”

Dean smiled to himself. “I can't say it's a bad idea,” he replied. All the people staring at him from the shops and walkways irritated him. He knew he'd get that attention, too. They were all waiting for him to cause a scene, or something.

“Oh, my,” Ellen whispered. “You really _are_ famous, Dean.”

“ _Infamous_ ,” he corrected. “They want to see how I fare against Castiel. They don't know I've been living with him for awhile, maybe. For all they know, he just bought me.”

Ellen's slow, wicked smile almost frightened Dean. “Do you want to make Castiel look good, Dean?”

“Of course,” Dean answered.

“Then, let him feed you in the restaurant the same way he does at home,” she suggested. “Think of what a display that will be.”

“Oh, _shit_ , Ellen,” Dean breathed. “That's a great idea. I'll have to warn him, first.”

“Why?” Ellen lifted her eyebrows at him. “He acts like an alpha, you act like an omega. Nothing wrong with it. He needs to get used to having you in public, to being viewed as an omega owner. He might make it a respectable thing again, if he does it right.”

“Yeah... Wow, I hadn't thought of it like that.”

“These alphas need to know how to treat their omegas,” Ellen went on. “Let them see. Let them see we are to be cherished instead of used, and that we have no trouble serving a _good_ alpha.”

Oh, this was going to be fun. Dean would make it fun for _both_ of them. He had to.

 

* * *

 

 

This was a restaurant for alphas, full of alphas and their omegas. Dean saw no one being fed properly. Because he had his head lowered slightly to avoid eyes, he could only use reflections to see how he and Castiel were being recognized. He smelled a lot of tension in the room. And, it didn't escape his notice that a few of the waiters began snuffing candles anywhere near drapery.

“If you're uncomfortable here, Dean, we can get meals and take them elsewhere, like Bobby and Ellen did,” Castiel offered as they waited to be seated.

Dean, aware of how intently people watched, took out a fan and snapped it open, making a lot of the guests jerk. He held it over his lips, an apology for what he was about to do, then closed the fan just as briskly and tapped his neck.

“Are you sure? And, what are you apologizing for?” Castiel asked.

He covered his lips again so he wouldn't be seen talking. “For putting you on display like the stud you are,” he whispered, knowing his smile was showing in his eyes. “Don't you let them give me a place setting, alpha.”

Castiel tilted his head in bemusement before the light of understanding dawned. “You're going to-. You want me to...”

“Make me proud,” Dean said, and dropped his fan away from his mouth.

Castiel straightened up, his eyes now shining with mischief. “Challenge accepted,” he said lowly.

“Master Novak,” a nervous looking man greeted. “T-table for two?”

“Is that all you have?” Castiel asked.

“I'm... I'm sorry?” The waiter or whatever asked. “Are you expecting more people, sir?”

“No. It will just be Dean and myself,” Castiel told him. “Do you have a place near the fire, semi-secluded?”

“Yes, yes of course,” the man said, bowing.

“I'll need a cushion,” Castiel said.

“Oh, all right,” the man said, blinking. “A thick one?”

“Yes, as thick as possible.”

“Very well, sir, right away.” The man guided them to stand to one side and left.

“Off to a good sta-aart,” Dean sing-songed without moving his lips.

“I knew you were a trouble-maker,” Castiel said.

The man returned with a cushion obviously meant to go on a piano bench. “Will this suffice?”

“Yes, that will be fine,” Castiel said.

They were led toward the back of the place, and eyes followed them. Dean had to admit, it was a nice spot. What Castiel had asked for put them out of the way without entirely isolating them. They could converse naturally if they wanted, be overheard if they wanted, and not be bothered. Only observed. And, people could talk about them freely without fear. It would engender the most delicious, juicy gossip. Dean knew full well gossip was what made the world go 'round. So did Castiel.

Castiel took Dean's cloak off, and draped it over one of the chairs. He asked silently for the cushion. The entire room seemed to quit breathing when he put it on the floor beside the other chair. “Take this other place setting away,” he ordered, and he held his hands out to Dean.

Dean held onto him, letting Castiel lower him to the cushion.

“Sir?” The waiter squeaked.

“Take the other place setting away,” Castiel ordered again, his voice easily heard. “Inform the chef that my meal will take at least an hour, minimum, and that I expect generous portions.”

Dean, demurely arranged upon the soft cushion, lowered his head and fanned himself, showing Castiel his amusement. He heard crockery and silverware being collected, saw the waiter's shoes moving away. Castiel's expensive, only semi-polished boots settled as he sat.

“Anyone that can possibly be looking at us, is,” Castiel informed. “I see that fan movement, you rascal.”

Dean only fanned himself harder.

The waiter returned. “Here is your menu, sir,” he said. “Would you like water or wine while you peruse a bit?” He'd apparently figured out that Dean wasn't to be spoken to.

“Water in a glass, a measure of water in a bowl, an extra napkin, and the red wine from my family's vineyards in Hapstale,” Castiel said. “Make it the thirty year old vintage bottled to celebrate my birth. It's labeled 'Celestial', in case you don't know. Madam Prince always keeps a supply of it for her establishments.” Dean heard the snap of the menu opening.

“Very good, sir,” the waiter said, and practically vanished.

“A wine bottled for your birth,” Dean murmured, face turned toward the floor and Castiel's boots so no one would see his lips moving. “Your parents have class.”

“Among other things,” Castiel replied, smiling.

Dean didn't understand the purpose of smelling a wine cork, but kept his mouth shut about it, because they weren't alone. He did grasp why Castiel's waiter hovered a little bit while Castiel sampled the wine, though.

“This is perfect,” he said. “My compliments to Madame Prince for storing the vintage properly. I expected no less, but accidents happen.”

“I will relay to her your approval,” the waiter said.

“Excellent. I'll want an appetizer to start. The roasted goat cheese with Portabella and thyme will do.” Castiel paused a moment. “Then, please serve the house honey rolls with a dish of salted butter.”

“Very good, sir.”

Once they were alone, Dean whispered. “I _have_ to try the wine bottled because you came into this world.”

“Never fear.”

Dean lifted his head once he heard Castiel take a sip. Even though they were playing, here, the gesture didn't lose any impact on Dean. He loved getting his liquids this way. He loved the soft, careful press of Castiel's mouth, and the way the wine flowed into him carrying the _taste_ of Castiel.

Castiel let him swallow, and whispered against Dean's lips. “Nine people just practically shat themselves.”

Dean breathed his laugh. Of course they did. They were all waiting for him to empty the building with a well-placed fire, or a riot. They certainly hadn't expected to see Dean meek and compliant, getting fed wine mouth to mouth by an alpha.

Castiel drew back for another sip, and again offered it to Dean.

“I love this,” Dean confessed after swallowing. “It's amazing to know you even exist, Cas.”

Castiel brushed his damp lips into Dean's hairline. “I know how you feel,” he said. He straightened up for a good few sips of wine on his own.

Dean, enjoying the attention and the warmth of the fire, relaxed back propped up on one arm, as he'd been taught to do in order to present as alluring but not promising anything. He let his head drop, fully exposing his throat to Castiel. Complete and total surrender, there, on display for _everyone_. Stirring up all the alphas in attendance.

They couldn't help it, of course. A good throat exhibition was like waving bouncy tits to a totally straight-playing, randy buck.

“Dean, you do know I'm not immune to that,” Castiel said into his wineglass.

“I'm counting on it,” Dean confessed. “I want their fucking eyes glazing over from how we smell. In fact, I want at least twelve of them to abandon their damned, fancy dinners so they can go sodomize their omegas in their damned, fancy carriages.”

Castiel choked slightly, and covered it up with a cough. He lowered his glass and picked up his napkin. A quick, nearly dainty dab restored him to rights.

Dean took out one fan, using it to call attention to his neck some more, fanning himself as if about overcome. “You were so right, Cas,” he whispered. “The way it works between alpha and omega is disgusting, but maybe we can change that. And, maybe the way to change that is by showing everyone that you can be true to your birth designation without hurting anyone.”

“I hope so, Dean,” Castiel said, offering him another mouthful of good wine.

Dean drank. He drank four more times from Castiel's lips, feeling the swoon of complete attention and caring. He was content to wait when Castiel sat up straight to address their anxious beta waiter.

“The chef says he will time your meal appropriate to the experience, sir,” he said. “I must confess I have no idea what that means.”

“It means your chef remembers a time when a good omega was treated as a precious gift instead of as a disposable object,” Castiel replied, loud enough to be fully overhead.

“Yes, sir,” the waiter said. “Here is your appetizer. Would you like more wine?”

“No, this is enough,” Castiel said.

Dean watched as Castiel carefully washed his hands in the bowl of water brought out to him a good time ago. He wiped his long, lovely fingers with the napkin before taking up his knife and fork to start portioning off pieces of the strange dish. He blew on a small piece for a moment before handing it down to Dean. “If you lick me, Dean, I can't be held responsible,” he warned. “I'm normally very, very good about tamping down the inner sex maniac, but you are completely a thing to _possess_ right about now.”

Dean politely did not lick. He didn't even graze Castiel with teeth or lips.

Oh, shit, this tasted good, whatever it was. Goat cheese and mushroom something. The sharp cheese, the earthy mushroom, and that thin drizzle of clover honey over the top... Dean moaned, too loud to ignore and not on purpose.

Castiel, eyes twinkling, took a bite for himself. “Oh, oh dear,” he said. “That _is_ good, isn't it?”

Dean leaned forward, mouth open for another portion. Castiel huffed his amusement, and gave him a larger piece.

It took them about twenty minutes to share the experience of the starter course. Dean's appetite, now whetted, caused his stomach to growl loudly.

“Be patient, my hadja,” Castiel said softly. “I see the waiter bringing the honey rolls out. These are amazing. Madam Prince's own recipe. I swear they're honestly worth the wait no matter how long you _do_ have to wait for them.”

That Castiel would use the word Dean needed to hear, in this setting, caused a molten fire in his veins. It made him recline in submission, throat arched and vulnerable, body loose and brain practically at a standstill. He smelled himself, though he usually didn't unless aroused and making slick. It was the scent of adoration and compliance tinged with slavish worship. In _any_ setting, a complete and utter surrender. No alpha could smell him and think of anything but satisfaction.

Or, the _envy_ of having that satisfaction.

Castiel was growling in a sub-level way as he liberally painted one half of a hot, sweet roll with butter. “You're going to stop my heart, Dean,” he said as he presented a succulent bite of food to him. “The scent of you is strong enough to flood the restaurant. Half the people in here are _squirming_.”

“ _Fuck them_ ,” Dean said. He sat up and _took_ that morsel. It was his _right_ to do so. “I'm the one with the proper, amazing alpha. Let them... eat cake.”

Castiel dropped his head back and laughed, free and honest and strong. After, he simply went back to tearing off bits of the sweet, warm, butter-drenched roll, and he gave them to Dean piece after piece with his eyes shining. “You're a handful,” he said. He took a drink of wine, and bent to press his lips to Dean's.

The combination of flavors with Castiel's own taste was about enough to ruin Dean. So much caring and yielding on Castiel's part that he'd get this in the first place. He unfurled a fan and held it behind their heads. “Thank you,” he said against Castiel's mouth. “You're _awesome_ , Cas.”

“No more than you,” Castiel replied, lipping him briefly. “I've never met anyone so interesting, or someone I so eagerly want to take care of, to please.” He pulled back after that, and Dean sat with his head down to get control of his wildly looping emotions.

“The cognac shrimp with beurre blanc sauce,” Castiel said to the waiter. “After, we'll have the dilled, smoked salmon crepes. Follow it up with strawberry orange soup for dessert.”

Dean waited, happy down to his very toes. He lolled upon the cushion, smirking slightly at the fact it would have to be aired out at least two days to get the olfactory drench he made, out of it. All around him, alpha men were keyed up, amazed and covetous. And, the omega men and women were jealous, too, wondering why they weren't treated to the sensual, personal experience of dining that Dean had. He and Cas had set this place into a tumultuous force of dissatisfaction and envy.

Castiel shared an entire glass of wine with him, slowly and with esthetic sweetness. Dean, so loose of limb and mind, now, leaned into every press of Castiel's soft, warm lips. This was _true_ intimacy. It shook Dean down to his foundations. And, though the sexual aspect couldn't be ignored, it wasn't the most important part at all. What stood out to him was the commitment, the caring, the uniting of alpha and omega for the cause of changing things. He and Castiel were throwing an outdated viewpoint onto a bonfire.

You can love and respect someone, and even keep your identity, while either serving, or being served.

The shrimp dish arrived. It had a lot of sauce to it. Castiel offered it to Dean with his own mouth, just as he'd done with the wine. It tasted so good. In fact, exquisite. He was fed at a rate that kept his appetite up without drowning his stomach. They shared bites, Castiel taking one half of a large shrimp, chewing and swallowing even while he passed the other half into Dean's mouth. It took a joyous, obscene amount of time, and Dean had the idle thought that their enjoyment had to come off as entirely real, because they were absorbed in the meal to an extent that couldn't be faked.

Castiel fed him more wine, a little water, and started on the next course, which was the smoked salmon and dill crepes. He ate from Castiel's hand as easily as he might feed himself, so drunk with the closeness and good food that he imagined he must be making other people sick. Which was fine. He didn't care. All that concerned him was eating, and pleasing Castiel.

“My God,” Castiel said after the fifth bite of crepe. “You're enough to _slay_ a man, Dean.”

“Mmm,” Dean responded, taking a bite and chewing enthusiastically. “I've got to tell you, Cas, I'm enjoying this so much it should be illegal.”

Castiel grinned at him before taking a sip of wine to feed him. “I know,” he said. “The scent of your joy and contentment is _overpowering_. Fifteen people have left their meals. I expect they are indeed sodomizing their table-mates in their carriages.”

Dean chuckled. “We win,” he whispered.

“We do,” Castiel agreed, still smiling.

The dessert soup arrived. Dean was fed mouthful after mouthful of chilled, sweet perfection. Finally full, utterly at ease, Dean made himself comfortable on his cushion while Castiel sent his money bag ahead. He would love to sleep, actually, but they had at least two hour's worth of travel ahead. He made do with being lazy and indolent moment to moment.

The time of their departure came to a head. Dean was escorted out by his alpha, who smelled of nothing but smug contentment and victory. In short order, Dean was in the carriage, heavy blankets wrapped around himself, Ellen at his side.

“Dean, you reek of shameful joy,” Ellen said carefully.

“I expect I do, Ellen, I expect I do,” he said, closing his eyes. “We had a great dinner.”

 


	12. Chapter 12

Dean slept beside of Castiel feeling like the most important person in the whole damn universe. Clean, well fed, his mouth brushed out and minty, he adhered to an equally clean Castiel like a barnacle on a ship. He had no intention of letting go of Castiel anytime soon. Not for any reason. He slept like a man without any care in the world, pressed to hot strength and assured of his place.

It was probably because of their new unity that Dean's heat cycle chose that night to insist.

Dean let go of Castiel, fervid from the inside out. He was _on fire_. His heat had never been this demanding or relentless. He felt his asshole flexing, his balls filling, his omega gland swelling inside to press against his prostate. Writhing, Dean tumbled from the bed, a wail of agony and want torn from his mouth.

“Dean...” Castiel appeared by his side. “Oh, Dean, you're _burning_ ,” he whispered. He smoothed his cool, strong hand over Dean's brow. “I've never... Not during heat. What do you need from me?”

“Oh, Cas,” Dean groaned. “Cas, I'm gonna die.” He curled up on his side and sucked wind, grateful for the cold floor. “Get Crowley. Crowley knows what to do. Please.”

“I'll get him,” Castiel promised. “Try to relax, Dean.”

 _Not happening_ , Dean thought while watching Cas leave the room. He jerked back and forth for what seemed like hours before Castiel returned with Crowley in tow.

“Oh,” Crowley said, crouching and taking Dean's temperature with a hand on the forehead. “This is a bad one. I don't...” He felt Dean's forehead again. “Honestly, what he needs is a mating bite, Master Novak. You're going to have to draw blood. Get him right here,” he added, briefly clamping his hand to the side of Dean's neck, where the shoulder met. “Do it hard and fast, and this heat should let up. Anything else is going to prolong his agony.”

“Must I wound him?” Castiel asked. “He's already borne so much!”

“The mating bite doesn't translate as an injury,” Crowley answered. “It's assurance. Unless I miss my guess, you and Dean have reached an accord, and that new bond wants finality. You should feel fortunate to know how much Dean accepts you, because most omegas don't ask for the bite. It's too personal. It's reserved for someone trusted.”

Crowley stood. “I know this is all very new to you, owning an omega personally. But, you're actually not doing badly. Really. I've had opportunity to see plenty of alpha-omega unions in my shop. Rich alphas wanting to dress their omegas like dolls, spoiled omegas taking delight in slutty attire to keep their attention... What you and Dean have is nothing like that. So, bite him.”

Crowley left the bedroom, and shut the door firmly behind himself.

Castiel bent down and got Dean into his arms. “There's no way I'm making such a private thing a source of talk in this house,” he said. “We're going for a short ride, Dean. I promise to make this as painless as possible.”

“Cas.” Dean forced his cramping body to relax a little, knowing it would be harder to carry him while he writhed. “No one will hear us in the cellar.”

“Good idea. I was going to take you into the woods, but that's better.” Castiel quickly snagged a quilt, throwing it over Dean. “Be patient. I'll do what needs done.”

The house was very quiet. Castiel made very little noise carrying Dean down the stairs and outside. Dean paid almost no attention to their surroundings. All he could think about was getting the horrible cramping feeling to go away. They went down into the cellar, and Castiel sat him on an ale barrel in order to spread out the the thick quilt. He then picked Dean up again, and laid him down upon it.

Dean, dazed and even stunned, was suddenly looking right up into Castiel's face.

“Only the bite, Dean?” Castiel asked. Then, he shook his head. “No, don't answer that. I'll take care of you. What you want, and what your body wants, isn't the same thing, I know.” He shifted Dean's legs apart with one knee. “And, _**I**_ don't want you suffering.” He lifted one of Dean's legs, pressing them together pelvis to pelvis, and Dean gave a hitching groan.

Castiel was hard. And, he was _enormous_. Most alphas bragged of being so, but Castiel never had. It would figure the one with the most to brag about wouldn't bother to do so.

Castiel began to rock against Dean, slow and firm but building speed. This wasn't planned sex. Dean thought Castiel was being careful with him because assuming things got them into trouble. Shit, this felt good, though. A strong body moving to give Dean relief. No escaping who it was, either. No one smelled like Castiel. Dean blindly grabbed for him, hitting hard shoulders, and he dug his fingers in. “Oh, Cas... Oh...!”

“I know, Dean,” Castiel told him, his voice gone low, so deep, but so kind, too. “You're fine, you're doing fine.”

Was he? Dean had no clue. This wasn't like jerking off _at all_. This felt powerful. This felt like a life changer. He got his other leg up, pressing his heel into Castiel's rounded ass, not insisting on anything, but feeling the thrusting. He wished his butthole would quit spasming and asking for cock, for a _knot_. His dick strained against his pants, hard enough to shatter. Castiel hit it in rhythm, grinding harder now, but not faster.

“God, Cas, you're so big,” Dean moaned. “That's _never_ going to fit in me.”

Castiel's breathless, reluctant chuckle, gave Dean a feeling of satisfaction. It took some of the seriousness out of this. “I assure you, Dean, that I'd fit,” he said. “Only _you_ could turn an alpha inside out with temptation, and then make him _laugh_ while he dry frots you in a musty old cellar.”

“You're welcome,” Dean gasped, dragging his hands down Castiel's sides. Like him, he was shirtless, and all that bare skin felt amazing. “Does this mean I can turn on the charm, now? You know...” He paused to pant and get his breath, because Castiel was shoving the air right out of him at this point. “Actually attempt the seduction I've been thinking about every few minutes since I met you?”

Castiel _growled._ It turned Dean into nothing more than heated putty. “I _fucking_ _ **knew**_ _it_ ,” Castiel said, now grinding against Dean good and hard, stepping up the pace. “I could see it in those stupidly green eyes!”

Dean cried out with bliss, shook with it. He was going to fly apart right here in this dark cellar. “Cas, I'm gonna... I can't...!”

Dean arched up, but Castiel pinned him like an afterthought. Pain exploded in his neck even as he came harder than he'd _ever_ , in his _life_. “Cas, Cas, Cas! Castiel!”

“Dean!” Castiel went out of rhythm, moaning Dean's name with his teeth still in Dean's skin. It was painful, and lovely, and _exactly_ what Dean needed.

Gasping for breath, they lay side by side, staring up into the darkness and the faraway crack of light from the kitchen. Dean smelled come, _lots_ of it. His and Castiel's. And he was exhausted now, but he put his hand over and totally got Castiel's knot on the first try. Castiel stiffened up in shock, and that rigid posture turned into a hip thrust when Dean _squeezed_.

“Dean, oh my God!” Castiel's protest died off with a big, tortured groan as a second orgasm tore through him.

Dean, amused and completely aroused, rolled onto his side to watch Castiel come back down from alpha bliss. He massaged the knot gently, helping him through it. There was so much come that Castiel's pants were soaked.

“You all right, Cas?”

“I have no idea,” Castiel panted. “That was a surprise.”

Dean frowned. “Which part?”

“The _second_ instance of having my brains blown out through my cock,” Castiel said, groaning. “I've never knotted anyone, Dean. I've been very careful to avoid that.”

Oh.

Dean stared at Castiel before swallowing hard. “Never even... played with yourself that way?” He asked.

“No, because I _knew_ it had to feel good, and I _refuse_ to be one of those alphas that end up spraying down their living quarters in come like a tom cat piss-marking territory,” Castiel growled.

Dean could not help laughing. It stretched his neck, and he quit with a little gasp. “Ow!” He felt for the wound, discovering neat little teeth marks oozing blood. “Damn. You were _thorough_.”

“I was going to say the same thing about my impromptu knot massage,” Castiel said. “How is it that I could fuck whomever I wanted, whenever I wanted, and never had to worry about the knot, but dry frotting _you_ caused it to pop up?”

“Must be my stupid green eyes,” Dean answered.

There was a beat of silence before they both started chuckling.

“Shit,” Dean said after a few minutes. “What are we going to do about the smell in here?”

“Leave the door open?” Castiel suggested. “Start a fire, and burn the place down?”

“I like your house, so that's a 'no' on the second one.”

“Did you really burn the opera down, Dean?”

“I _so_ did,” Dean confessed. “St. Addams owned it, you know.”

“Yes.” Castiel snickered. “Maybe we should go now? Everyone will be waking up soon. If we go fast, we might not get caught.”

“All right.”

They practically crept from the cellar, as if they'd have an audience gathered around outside. The coast was clear. They went into the kitchen. Still clear. They made it a swift, light-as-possible run all the way back to Castiel's room, and when he shut the door, Dean grinned.

“First, we burn some evidence,” Castiel said, going to build up the fire. “I'm not handing these pants over for washing. Just no. Talk about humiliation.”

“Yeah.” Dean got fresh pants, and their dressing gowns out. “You're not burning the quilt, are you?”

“No. My mother made it. She'd never forgive me.” Castiel threw that over a bedpost. He then shimmied out of his ruined pants and tossed them into the fire.

Dean couldn't help staring. Even soft, Castiel was big. He was also as neatly trimmed as an omega would be. “I don't care what you say, that's not going to fit,” Dean told him.

Castiel smiled even as he rolled his eyes. “Yes, it will. You'll find that out should you ever desire me in that way, Dean.”

Dean took his pants off and threw them atop Castiel's, which were on a hard smolder by now.

It wasn't a horrible thought, actually. Considering Cas as a full owner, someone that would fuck him into relief during his heats. Someone who would be careful with him.

Castiel openly looked at him, taking his time. His expression admiring, he tilted his head to one side. “You're so very beautiful, Dean.”

“If you're happy, I'm happy,” Dean said.

Castiel smiled. He went to his chest of drawers and slid the top drawer out, reaching toward the back of it. His hand came out clutching a mirror. “I want you to look at your face, Dean, and see what all the fuss is about.”

Dean took the mirror. “If you want,” he said amiably, and held it up.

A stranger looked back at Dean.

Dean turned his head a little bit. He kind-of-almost remembered the freckles. The nose he knew from it being between his eyes; he'd had a peripheral view of it his whole life. But, the mouth, the eyes and eyebrows, those were alien. His lashes were long, dark and thick. He decided he liked his mouth. And yeah, his eyes were green. A weird, almost yellow kind of green. “Stupidly green,” he joked, handing back the mirror.

Castiel bowed his head, smiled, and put the mirror away. “You're not impressed with yourself.”

“Not for my looks. I had nothing to do with that.” Dean got a cloth and wet it in the pitcher of water. He wiped his face, and daubed at his neck. “I hope you aren't rabid,” he muttered. “Do I need a bandage?”

“A piece of gauze and some spirits wouldn't be amiss,” Castiel answered. He put on his clean pants and robe. “I'll go get that right now.”

Dean nodded. He went over to poke the fire and get the pants burned up. Then, he used a fresh cloth and more water to clean his privates. He was tired now, and sore, and wanting some non-talking. He needed to think about what they'd done and what they had in their future.

He was asleep in a chair by the time Castiel returned.

 

* * *

 

 

Dean elected to have his breakfast with Naomi the next morning, as Castiel had been called away to deal with some sort of livestock problem before dawn. He sent word downstairs via Charlie that he wished Naomi's attention. Word quickly came back that she and Zachariah were dining together, and would love to have his company.

Dean dressed quickly in a hakama, short kimono, and haori, all in matching, heavy black silk as befitted winter and his status. He hooked his fans into a white obi, however, to emphasize his virginal state. Castiel had not been inside him. The mating bite would show, though, and his place was firm in Castiel's household. He put on the shoes Naomi had made for him, and went downstairs.

He was aware of many eyes upon him as he crossed to the east wing, but he kept his head down. It would reduce the chance he'd get waylaid by casual conversation. One didn't keep one's in-laws waiting. And, once outside Naomi's rooms, he knelt on the floor and knocked.

“Come in, Dean,” Naomi greeted cheerfully.

Dean entered on his knees, and shut the door behind himself.

“You may come over,” Zachariah told him. “Naomi has a cushion waiting.”

Dean, still on his knees, went directly where told, and positioned himself.

“I can't get over Dean's manners,” Zachariah said as Naomi fed Dean a piece of omelet.

“I can't get over Dean _likes_ us,” Naomi muttered. “Quite frankly, dear, we're horrible people. Nothing like him.” She cleaned her hand and ran her fingers through Dean's hair in a show of approval, which Dean did enjoy. He leaned into the contact.

Naomi gasped. “Oh, look,” she said. “Castiel's made it official. Yet, he hasn't mated him. Very proper.”

“Excellent,” Zachariah said in a tone of satisfaction. “Only two more steps to go, the officiator and the resultant ceremony. It looks as if our son has settled himself quite well, if only by accident, and by the fact the omega he chose knew what to do even if he didn't. I always said Castiel was born under a lucky star.”

“It wasn't luck, as I've said,” Naomi scolded mildly, giving Dean a drink of cherry juice from a pretty, cut crystal cup. “I planned his birth specifically, Zach.”

“Yes, yes, you're a miracle of planning,” Zachariah drawled.

Dean bent his head to smile.

“Do we amuse you?” Naomi asked, her tone warm and friendly. She patted his head. “I'm glad we amuse _someone_.”

“I do like this young man,” Zachariah said quietly. “Do we have a good, local doctor on call for him? I don't expect Castiel to want children immediately, more's the pity, but we should have everything in place. I don't want Dean to lose his life trying to give Castiel babies.”

“I have three physicians lined up to examine,” Naomi told him. “All of them within fifty miles of the manor. If none of them pan out I will have to hire one, and send him here. I'm taking no chances with Dean. The fact of the matter is, Zach, that no one else will do for Castiel. Not only is Dean's breeding exemplary, his comportment and intelligence are beyond reproach.” She fed Dean a tender piece of roasted bear, then, and a sip of water. “Besides, he's kind and loyal. I believe he's going to be a wonderful father.”

Dean enjoyed hearing how much he pleased Castiel's parents. Not since his mother died had anyone found him anything but a nuisance or a burden. And, he _knew_ that going from privation to a pedestal probably threw his viewpoint out of whack, but he fully intended to wallow in some approval for a change. It felt good. It felt good, and warmed him inside. He lowered himself to the floor face first, touching his forehead to Naomi's silk slipper.

Zachariah sighed as Naomi petted Dean's head. “I know it's insulting to say, and I hope Dean forgives me, but it does disturb me to see an omega so thoroughly obeisant. It's what he was raised to do, and I understand it gives him comfort, but...”

“Dear, Dean is a man, so you identify with his gender even if not his birth designation,” Naomi informed gently. “If Dean was a female, you wouldn't feel as strongly as you do about seeing him prostrating himself. You're sexist, like any alpha male.”

“That's likely true,” Zachariah admitted. “I just don't understand how this could please him. I obey the rules for omegas because everyone expects me to, but I fully sympathized with Castiel's problem in complying.”

“Yes, I know. But, until our society starts progressing toward equal rights again, people will continue to assign value by breeding purposes, and it's not without some merit. All of the population planet-wide reduced to several hundred million instead of eight or so billion...?” She paused to give Dean a slice of canned peach, which was so good he nearly groaned. “Selective breeding, my dear. That's the only way to build the human race back up. God forbid it be like they do for dogs, because that's unhealthy. I'm not talking about pure-bred anything. But children do need to be born. I'm only sorry my womb tapped out at two boys.”

Dean perked up a little bit. Castiel had a brother? Yes, Naomi had called Castiel her _oldest_ son...

“Oh, Samandriel,” Zachariah sighed heavily. “That one is going to be the death of me. All that brawling and whoring and gambling...”

Castiel had a brother named Sam, too. Dean pondered the order of the universe.

“He's a disgrace,” Naomi agreed. “But, he's our son.”

“We could bring him here, and cut off his funds,” Zachariah said. “Now that Castiel is even more of a role mode for him...?”

“Well, that has some merit,” Naomi said thoughtfully. “Castiel is the only one he'd ever listen to, so there's that. Dre cannot keep on as he is. It won't be long before he gets himself snared with supporting some child he was too heedless to prevent.” She fed Dean a thick piece of bread coated in salted butter, and gave him a drink of cherry juice again. Once more, she carded her fingers through Dean's hair before patting him. “Perhaps put him in this wing, so the interaction isn't so hard on Castiel and Dean. Because, they'll be legally linked soon, and will have a honeymoon period.”

Dean shivered. He doubted it would be as quick as all that, the sex. Castiel responded like for like, but Dean didn't want to push. Castiel wasn't the typical randy buck, just seemed above it all somehow. Yeah, sex would probably be awesome, but...

But, if Castiel didn't want it, Dean wouldn't ask for it.

“I'll send him a letter directly from town this evening,” Zachariah said. “If he wants an inheritance at all, he'll comply. He's twenty-two years old, and I'm tired of paying lawyers to pull his fat out of the fire.”

“Well, as you decide, dear,” Naomi said briskly. “However, no stipend. He won't obey his brother if he has his own money. Castiel can put him to honest work around here, teach him farming and wine making, and all the other things that he used in order to pull Tor-Valen from the wreck that it was. Whatever else can be said about our first born son, he's a first-rate businessman. Maybe being attached to Dean will stop him from fighting in the Alpha Arrangement.”

“We can only hope.” Zachariah went to a writing desk. “I'll start the first draft. Should we be forceful, or logical, in our approach?”

“Neither has ever worked. Tell him if he doesn't comply that we'll give Castiel the duty of his discipline, plus his share of the inheritance. Castiel won't like becoming a law-giver, but he _will_ whip Dre into shape.” She gave Dean a good sized bite of bear, and another piece of omelet. “For no reason at all, you've just reminded me I want to speak to Castiel's tailor this morning. I want a bridal kimono for Dean.”

“Of course, dear,” Zachariah said absently.

“Black for winter, and cherry blossoms for hope,” she mused aloud, feeding Dean the last of her breakfast and juice. “He certainly has given this family hope.”

“Not arguing with you there, dear,” Zachariah replied.

 

* * *

 

 

Dean helped Ellen and Kevin prepare the mid-day meal, then took them both outside and to behind Ellen's cabin. They looked at him curiously as he bowed his head to Bill and asked if he would join them.

“Sure, son,” Bill said, putting down his work. “What are we going to do?”

“I'm going to teach your wife and my friend how to defend themselves with the fan,” Dean explained. “There's not always going to be an alpha around, or at least we shouldn't count on it. I'd feel better if they realized they had some power themselves.”

Bill grinned. “I can't argue that,” he said. “Lead the way.”

Kevin, predictably, rolled his eyes once he understood what was about to happen. “Dean, I don't want to learn this,” he protested.

“It's an insult to your alpha if you don't,” Dean said, using a harsher tone than he ever had with Kevin. “An alpha is for your protection, yeah, but if you make him fret over you every day, in every way, every _moment_ , then you're taking _advantage_ of him.”

Ellen sucked in a sharp breath while Kevin lowered his head. “I never thought about it like that,” she whispered.

“Honey, I don't mind a bit protecting you,” Bill pointed out. “But, it would great to know you can at least buy yourself some time until I can reach you.”

Dean nodded. “Exactly. Would you allow me to demonstrate a technique on you, Bill?”

“Sure,” he agreed easily, coming to stand before Dean. “What do you want me to do?”

“Well, I want to show a blend of defense and attack instead of a simple defense,” Dean admitted. “Defense is good once you're accomplished, and can move naturally, but sometimes you just have to beat a bastard off of you.” He spread his fan open with a sharp 'crack' that made everyone recoil. “This is the move I would have used on Maxil, in the kitchen,” he told Ellen, and her eyes sharpened with the reminder of how she'd felt, which was what Dean had wanted. “I enticed him away from you by fanning my scent in his direction,” he explained first. “An alpha going into even the first stages of rut has little self-control, especially one like Maxil, who doesn't care about you at all, only about getting his knot squeezed. No offense, Bill.”

“None taken,” Bill said cheerfully.

“This is called the double-punch defense and collapsing strike,” Dean informed, still fanning himself. “Bill, come at me like you're going to punch me in the face. Go slowly so Ellen and Kevin can see what we do.”

Bill slowly moved his arm out. Dean swung his fan to the left. “Bill, do you notice it's a distraction to have my fan go across your vision?”

“Yeah, it made me want to step back automatically,” Bill reported, still moving slowly.

Dean brought his left arm up to direct Bill's strike to the side, and the fan went across the thwarted arm. “Close the fan on his throat,” Dean instructed, doing so lightly. “Mine are made of iron at the posts, but even an ordinary fan can be used to flick out your attacker's eye, or stun him by closing on the ear.” He demonstrated while Bill held his pose.

“The usual response to having an arm blocked is to bring up the other one,” Dean said, and Bill complied.

“That's right,” Bill said. “It was my first thought.”

Dean slid the fan, which was already up at the right height, over to misdirect the second arm while keeping his own left arm up to continue to block Bill's right. “As soon as you've got the one arm blocked, and he tries to use his other, he's wide open for you to viciously chop him one in the throat from the other side,” Dean said.

“This looks complicated,” Kevin griped.

“I think it's fascinating,” Ellen said.

Dean stepped back, and handed Ellen the fan. “Get a feel for it,” he said. “Hold it here, and snap it open until you can get really good opening it with a loud noise. That will sometimes by itself be warning enough. Not often, but sometimes.” He gave his other fan to Kevin, and told him to do the same thing.

“This is a good idea, Dean,” Bill said. “Thank you.”

“I just want everyone safe,” Dean said.

He let them practice for about ten minutes. Ellen was really getting good with a sudden, firm snap-out. Dean decided to let her use that as incentive to keep going. He showed her the sneaky way of using her fan when nervous, like she needed air, and folding it shut when being approached by someone. “Unfurl it, and aim for my eye,” Dean said. “Wait until I'm close enough. You'll want to drag the pointed tip.”

“I might hurt you,” she protested.

Dean showed her he had a small wood chip in his palm, gathered up from Bill's wood cutting for their home. “I'll deflect,” he promised. “But, you do this like you mean it, Ellen. I'm a bad guy, here, an alpha who feels entitled to you.” He came at her.

Ellen's sudden movement was good, but Dean had experience. He didn't get his eye dragged out of his head. She did effectively send the wood chip sailing.

Ellen stood there, amazed, as Dean grinned at her.

“See?” Dean said. “You'd have blinded me in one eye, and there's only one after that. Hard to get you if they're blind, right?”

Ellen whirled on Bill. “Bill, you have to make me my own fans,” she said.

Bill laughed. “Let me look at one, okay? They seem simple enough.” He took the one she'd been holding, and examined it a few minutes. “Iron body, steel ribs, and canvas,” he said. “I should be able to do this, sweetheart. It might take me a few days with the blacksmith.”

“I still don't like this,” Kevin said flatly.

“Fine,” Dean said. “I can't make you. You'd better find yourself a hard as nails alpha.” He felt a little disgusted with Kevin, but he also understood that not everyone was comfortable with fighting.

Kevin lowered his head. “Dean, I'm sorry.”

“No, it's okay,” Dean deflected. “I get it, Kevin.”

Dean put his fans back on his obi. He needed to get cleaned up, and find Castiel. He felt conflicted on whether or not to tell him the conversation his parents had. On one hand it was disloyal to keep the knowledge, and on the other it was disloyal to disclose it. Yes, he was part of the family now, but choosing sides always meant trouble.

He left Kevin and Ellen with Bill, and walked back across the grounds to the manor. He met no one until hitting the top landing, where he'd have to go straight to reach his old room or Castiel's, or go backward to a section he'd never investigated before. There, at the crux of choice, he heard his name being called out by Crowley. Dean turned to face the other half of the upper floor hallway, seeing the tailor standing there, motioning.

Dean obeyed.

“A few things,” Crowley said, inviting him to walk down this new section of hallway with him. “I discovered a lovely little alcove meant for taking tea and watching the kind of weather that falls down to earth rather than dawning upon us.” He showed Dean how the end of the hallway abruptly made a crook and ended.

Dean looked at the large, sumptuous window seat with it's deep cushion and wide ledge for holding a tea cup comfortably. The view was of the forest that surrounded the house, but he could also see a lake. It was close enough to be very tempting to visit.

“I asked your soon to be husband about it, and he said he'd made it so he could watch snow falling,” Crowley commented, smiling a little.

Dean smiled back. “I can see him doing it,” he admitted. “You said 'a few things'?”

“Time to put ointment on your back,” Crowley said, pointing to a door.

Dean went in. Crowley had been given this room instead of his own cabin, Dean noted, and it made sense. He'd had to set up and be available at all times. He'd personalized with a little tea cabinet and a shelf of books, but there were bolts of cloth everywhere, tables set up for cutting and sewing, and all the things he might need to work. Dean could barely see the bed.

“Just kick a path,” Crowley advised, walking past him towards the tea cabinet.

Dean gingerly stepped over things until getting to a chair.

“You're awfully light on your feet,” Crowley observed as he brought a jar over to him. “Part of your geisha training?”

“I'm not a geisha,” Dean corrected, his eyes upon a collapsed and folded down embroidery frame. He wanted it almost instantly. It didn't look as if Crowley ever used it. “Do you embroider?”

“I can, and I'm actually good at it, but I usually don't,” Crowley said while Dean exposed his back. “Why? Getting a good covet on?”

“Yeah. I like the rig you've got.” Dean winced slightly as Crowley took off his bandage.

“You can have it. I'll come to you if I need it,” Crowley said easily. He hummed a little as he applied the ointment. “You don't need a bandage anymore,” he announced. “Mainly because I'm a genius. I'm going to put one on for tonight anyway, just to make sure, but you should be able to take it off tomorrow and be fine with no further treatment.”

“That's a little fast for the sort of burn-.”

“I know, but I'm a genius, like I said,” Crowley interrupted, putting the new bandage on. “Would you like some cloth, and a few patterns to try out for embroidery? Your mother-in-law requested I confer with you on your wedding kimono. Maybe you'd like to do the work on it yourself?”

“I don't think I could possibly work on it that fast, but maybe the obi?” Dean said, starting to feel a little bit excited about contributing to his own wedding in a meaningful way.

“The obi?” Crowley kicked a pile of cloth over and sat on a stack of books in front of Dean. “Does that part of the ensemble have a particular significance?”

“Yeah.” Dean met Crowley's alert, strangely colored eyes. “I'm supposed to take it off and hand it to him, no matter what the ceremony. It's how I give myself to him, personally.”

Crowley nodded once, his gaze somber, even respectful. “I see.”

“He's rich, so I can design something elaborate, if I want to,” Dean carried on, compelled to explain.

Again, Crowley nodded. “Can you draw, Dean?”

“Yeah, some,” Dean admitted.

Crowley got up and began searching for something. He turned over a pile of boxes, cursing under his breath. “What are your thoughts?” He asked while sifting through a particular box.

“The magpie, for happiness, stability, and connecting people,” Dean said slowly. “It's a bird for family unity and celebrations. If I combine it with cherry blossoms that are beginning to fade to yellow, it'll mean more.”

“Why's that?” Crowley came back to him with a shallow, wide box made of pressed wood.

“Cherry blossoms are for power, beauty, and sexuality, but I'm older than the usual omega being taken for the first time, so there's an element of fade,” Dean explained. “But, since yellow means ripening, and a full step towards being supportive and stabilizing, it's appropriate. Too, yellow is for royalty, and the Novaks can be seen as such. It pays them homage, too. I'll have to include willow branches to show I will bend without breaking.”

“All right.” Crowley tilted his head. “What else?”

“The fabric should be blue-tinted silver,” Dean said after thinking about it a moment. “Silver is for wishing wealth on the family, and promising to be trustworthy. The blue is for healing, trust, and exploration, primarily.”

Crowley eyed him. He put the box down and went in search of something else. Eventually, he came back with a small bolt of silk the exact shade Dean had in mind. “Like this?”

“That's perfect,” Dean said. He touched it, feeling it was thick, smooth, and pliant. “It's even the right thickness for a formal obi.”

“How long do you want it?” Crowley asked, putting the bolt down on a clean table.

Dean did a quick calculation. “Eight feet,” he answered, watching Crowley's hand go still as it poised to take up scissors.

“Eight feet,” Crowley repeated.

“It has to wrap around my middle three times, and be tied in a traditional type of bow in the back,” Dean told him. “It should also be six or eight inches wide.”

Crowley sat down, and just stared at Dean.

“What?” Dean asked after a minute of being mutely examined.

“You can't embroider a kimono in enough time, but you can do an elaborate obi of that length and width?” Crowley asked.

“I won't make it very complicated,” Dean explained.

Crowley promptly put a scrap piece of silk in an embroidery hoop, and stretched it into a workable tightness. He took a fabric pencil in grey, sketched something on the silk, then threaded a needle with black silk thread, and handed the things over to Dean.

Dean knew what he was being asked to do. He quickly did the work, finishing in about six minutes. When he gave it back, Crowley took it and stared.

“What the hell?” Crowley asked.

“You can make a shirt in four minutes,” Dean defended.

“That's a matter of cutting,” Crowley snapped.

“Bullshit,” Dean tossed right back. “I saw your stitches!”

“Stitches are stitches! This looks like a machine made it!” Crowley tossed it to one side, got up, and began measuring the silk to cut for Dean's obi. “Why did they teach you how to do that at the omega school?”

“It was either take that as an elective, or be sent off to apprentice at a tea house,” Dean said. “I didn't really want the risk in being sent away.”

“Oh.” Crowley sniffed and nodded, relaxing his posture slightly. “I can't blame you. While I'm doing this, _and_ hemming the band so all we have to do is sew it shut when you get done, think about your mother-in-law's choice for your wedding kimono. Do you _want_ the black with cherry blossoms?”

“Cherry is for spring,” Dean muttered, kind of off balance now. “It won't matter, though. Black is for winter. Beside, no one here but me or _maybe_ Kevin will understand all the meanings.” He watched as Crowley carefully, and with astonishing speed, began to round-hem the silk. “See?” He said, pointing. “That's so fast I can't even follow it. You're going to wear your hands out.”

Crowley smirked at him. “One of these days I might commission you to embroider for me. We're even.”

Dean smiled back, feeling a little better.

Once Crowley finished, Dean sketched his design on the obi, keeping in mind it would be folded in half. Crowley watched him with quiet curiosity. And, when he finished, and began going through Crowley's silk thread collection, the tailor had a good long look at Dean's drawing.

“You're talented with drawing,” Crowley said.

“Hm?” Dean had twelve different colors picked out already.

“The sketch,” Crowley said. “It took you less than five minutes, and it's perfect, from what I can see. Willow branches with cherry blossoms and magpies, varying in position but always symmetrical.”

“Drawing stuff isn't that hard,” Dean told him. He stopped at fourteen subtle colors, telling himself he'd come back if he found he needed to. “Would you intervene and ask Naomi if I shouldn't be married in white, or at least solid black? The kimono isn't as important as the obi.”

“I'll ask,” Crowley promised quietly.

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

Dean got up to face another dawn. Castiel hadn't come home last night, and Dean felt a little off balance. Charlie had informed that the livestock issue had merely gone on too long and that the master of the house had to stay with the animals, but that he'd be back in the morning, so Dean felt expectant. He got dressed in linen trousers of beige, put on one of the white, seafaring shirts Crowley had made for him, then the jinbaori that Sonny had given him after mastering the fan. It felt good to put it on, and he gathered strength from it.

Barefoot and enjoying it, Dean went downstairs to see if Ellen needed his help. She had her kitchen staff, now, but he'd ask anyway.

To Dean's pleasant surprise, Jo was in the kitchen, too. She was handing her mother a turkey, freshly killed, and she smelled like the freedom of the open wind. Kevin, however, who stood in the corner and watched the exchange with wide open eyes, smelled of fear.

“Hello, Jo,” Dean greeted, smiling. “That's a beautiful turkey. Thirty pounds, at least.”

“That's what I figured,” she admitted. “Looking good, Dean. Love the jacket.”

“This old thing?” Dean grinned. “I was wondering if you'd go fishing with me sometime. I'd like to bring some fish back for us.”

“Oh, you've done it now,” Ellen said. “Good morning, Dean, dear.” She put the turkey on a sideboard.

“What have I done?” Dean asked.

“My Joanna Beth loves to fish,” Ellen told him. She took a basket, lined it with a thick cloth, and began layering it with granola sticks, fresh bread and apples. “Why don't you go this morning? The household is tight. There's nothing much else for either of you to do.”

Dean stole a look at Jo, who was eying him slyly. “Would you mind, Jo?” He asked. “I can't go anywhere without an alpha.”

“Sure,” she said. “We'll have to detour to get poles, though.”

As soon as they were out the back kitchen door, Dean leaned in to speak quietly. “I can show you how to fish without a slow, stupid pole,” he said. “What kind of fish are available?”

“Well, there's a fish we're trying to get rid of in the lake, actually,” Jo said. “It's a kind of carp. Big. Bully fish, too. Getting too big, edging out the rest of the fish and their food.”

“Kind of an off-silver?” Dean asked.

“Yeah!” Jo looked at him sideways.

“We had those in Sonny's lake, too,” Dean told her. “That's what we hunted. I don't know where they came from, but you can eat them. Some of the ones we got were over fifty pounds. We should go out and catch a bunch of them.”

“They've got a lot of bones,” Jo protested. “I've tried to eat them before. It was a mess.”

“You cut the head off, gut 'em, and bake them,” Dean explained. “The bones are soft enough to eat that way. Or, you can bake them and grind them up for fish patties. If you don't want to eat them, I guess they'd make good fertilizer.”

Jo came to a stop. “You know... We have a smokehouse. We could experiment a little!”

“That's the spirit!” Dean grinned at her. “If there are a lot of fish, why not take something with us for carrying them?”

“I've got a two-man pole litter we could take,” Jo said. “Let's stop by my parent's cabin and get it. Dad was using it to haul firewood.”

They made their detour. Bill promptly volunteered to go with them. He got poles, though. Dean resigned himself to showing two people an easier way of fishing. But, the two Harvelles were in high spirits as they walked to the lake, and it made Dean smile to see the pride Bill took in his daughter. They had similar personalities. Their steps were in perfect time together.

Dean admired the lake for a long moment while Bill and Jo set up their equipment. He couldn't see the end of this body of water. There had to be a lot of fish in there, begging to go on a skillet.

“All right, Dean?” Bill asked.

“Yeah, I'm fine,” Dean said. “Could I borrow your knife?”

Bill took his hunting knife from his belt, handing it over. “Don't you go telling on me for that,” he said.

Dean nodded. “I won't.” He went for the underbrush, where he'd seen bamboo growing. After a few minutes he found a likely piece to use, cutting it with one, good 'whack'. When he came back, Bill had already built a fire on the shore, and Jo had her line in the water. Dean settled down to split the end of his bamboo pole, cutting equally to make a balanced 'X'. He stripped the cane of all branches, and got a thicker piece to cut in two. These, he jammed down between his splits to make the points spread out.

“The hell you doin', Dean?” Bill asked, sitting beside him.

“Making a fishing spear,” Dean explained. “You have any twine or cord on you?”

“I have bailing twine.” Bill pulled a ball of it from his coat, giving it over while looking highly interested.

Dean braced the pole and began winding twine below the splits, leaving a loop and the tail of the loop free. He then went over and under the split braces to keep them in place, and pulled the line tight. Using Bill's knife, he began sharpening the splits from the halfway mark outward. “Jo said there's a fish causing all the other fish problems.”

“Damn right there is,” Bill muttered, still watching Dean intently. “Big old carp that didn't come from here originally. Probably got rained in as minnows or eggs, or something. I don't know. They're huge, and no one wants to eat 'em, because they're carp, right? Carp eat off the bottom, and taste nasty.”

“These don't, if they're the ones like what we had at the school,” Dean said. He gave Bill back his knife. He held his spear points over the fire, rotating carefully to harden them off. “Granted, they aren't fancy food, but you can eat them. They actually don't taste like much. Sonny taught us to use lemon and butter to make them good.” He stood up and shed his jinbaori, because he didn't want to ruin it. He hung it in a close tree. “Tell you what. I'll catch them, and you knock their heads off. Deal?”

“Sure. I gotta see this.” Bill smiled at him, clearly not believing Dean could fish this way. “Jo, honey, move up a bit if you want to catch anything, because Dean's going in.”

Dean shook his head. He grinned at the sand while rolling up his trouser legs. He'd probably get wet anyway.

“The water's cold!” Jo protested, but she started walking farther up.

“I won't be in it long,” Dean promised, and he slowly waded in.

Oh, damn, these were big fish. They weren't trying to go after Jo's bait, evidently, or she'd have already caught one. He readied his spear and went still. He knew how to do this, and expertly.

A big one, probably twenty pounds, swam lazily into Dean's vision. He struck fast, pinned it, and reached in. He threw the bleeding, flopping thing onto the bank at Bill's feet, turning around to keep on, but not before he saw the man's look of astonishment.

Dean caught twenty before his spear gave out. He waded back onto the bank, gratefully rolling his trouser legs down. Just chucking the spear into the undergrowth, Dean retrieved his jinbaori, and put it back on. He felt chilled, and quickly went to the fire.

Bill, who'd been busily beheading fish and throwing the heads far back into the lake, looked up at him while giving an incredulous head shake. “If I hadn't seen that with my own eyes, I wouldn't have believed it,” he said. “That's some trick, Dean.”

“Those fish are easy to catch that way,” Dean admitted. “Other kinds are harder.”

“Wow,” Jo said after looking at Dean a moment. “Cute, educated, loyal, and a good fisherman.”

Dean blushed. He started throwing fish onto the pole litter.

“We haven't been out here an hour,” Jo went on, faintly protesting. “Even with them being all bony, there's enough meat here for a couple of days.”

“I don't care one damn bit to pick bones out of my fish,” Bill commented. “People that complain about that sort of thing ain't never been hungry.” He motioned to Jo to pick up the other end of the two-pole litter. “Let's carry these back to your mamma, see if we can't get a big old fish fry going on, Jo-Beth.”

It was a short walk, but the weight of the fish clearly put more than a slight taxation on the two. Dean offered to take an end, but neither Harvelle would hear of it. Behind the kitchen, they balanced the thing on the well platform with one side up and the other down, draining what blood hadn't already seeped through.

“Dear Lord!” Ellen exclaimed, coming out the back door. “Somebody wanted fish for supper!”

“Dean caught _all_ of these, Mom,” Jo said.

“In an hour?” Ellen asked, her eyes swinging to Dean.

“Apparently, the lake is full of them,” Dean said. He didn't see the fuss. How hard is it to spear fish this size?

“I'm going to get the smokehouse ready, and hopefully Dean will teach me how to fish his way,” Bill said. “We can have smoked fish this winter. Pickle it too, I guess.”

“I'll show you,” Dean promised.

He didn't know exactly how it happened, but the back lot of the manor had a lot of servants in it very quickly, all milling about and looking at the enormous fish. Dean slunk away to the kitchen to clean himself up a little bit, then went upstairs to Castiel's room.

Still no Castiel.

Feeling a little bit abandoned, Dean set up the embroidery frame and began working on the obi. This kind of work never really bothered him, though many omega males hated it. Too fiddly, they'd say, or even report that their fingers didn't 'work like that'. Not true. It just took patience to learn, and had the stigma of being 'girly'.

Dean made stitch after stitch, feeling a numb sort of calmness settling into his mind after about an hour, which was welcome. Oh, so welcome. In his quieter moments, with nothing to do, he tended to dwell on the things about his new situation that felt raw or frightening. Like, seeing the mask of nothing on Castiel's face while he killed highwaymen. Or, the shame of wanting a family so much he'd given up his pride to sit at Naomi's feet as well as Castiel's.

But, it was fine. It was good. He had shelter. A support group. He had food, and good clothes.

Dean finished a full foot of the obi before carefully putting it away. He built up Castiel's fire from scratch, as it had gone out while he worked. To fill in the time, he tidied the room to perfection, going so far as to dust and sweep. He had three hours until supper.

Cold, weary in his soul instead of his body, Dean crawled into Castiel's bed and pushed his face against his pillow. It smelled like Castiel. He hugged it to himself, closing his eyes. The next thing he knew, fingers were carefully carding through his hair, and Castiel's scent came a lot stronger. He opened his eyes to see the man leaning over him, a cautious smile bringing up the corners of his mouth.

“Supper is ready,” Castiel informed quietly. “We're all eating together again, because I hear _someone_ caught quite a bit of fish no one's ever eaten before.”

“Why not eat the bony fish?” Dean asked, smiling back. But, his heart wasn't in it, really. As good as Castiel was to him, he was still a stranger. Dean wanted to cling to him anyway, and that wasn't one bit fair.

“Dean?” Castiel eased down to look at him face to face on the bed. “What's wrong? Your eyes are so sad.”

Dean's throat closed off a bit, aching. “I'm an alien here, Cas. Not exactly your average omega to begin with, but...” He closed his eyes a moment to gather words, even to gather a little more courage. “I'm not really a servant, for starters. I mean, I was made to be an accessory of a kind, you know?”

Castiel, studying him with almost frightening intensity, slowly nodded his understanding.

“I feel accepted, and welcomed by everyone, which is good,” Dean went on. “But, I'm _different_. I can't ride a horse like a nobleman, but I fish in a way no one here had ever seen. I'm not a tradesman, but Crowley thought my ability with embroidery was exceptional. Ellen had to teach me about spices and leavened bread, but she couldn't read the inventory that I did for her.” Dean stopped to draw in a deeper breath, because somehow, as he spoke, he was losing air. “And, sometimes I can't even talk to you without using my fans, because there's so much to say, and I've never wanted to _speak_.”

Castiel's eyes, so wide and focused upon Dean, began to look the slightest bit wet, which threw Dean into guilt.

“I'm not special, Cas, and I never wanted to be,” Dean confessed. “But, everywhere I turn, here, someone's pointing a finger in my direction. I'm smart, or I'm loyal. I'm pretty. I'm an investment, something to protect. That's so different from being the overgrown, too old, many-times sold omega. Don't get me wrong, I love that I'm accepted. It's more than I ever thought I'd get, anywhere. But... But, it's just so hard to take in at this speed.”

Dean let his eyes shut. He felt empty now, but it was a good kind of empty. Castiel wasn't going to slap him down for what he said. Even as he thought that, he felt Castiel gathering him up in his arms. Dean shuddered with relief as his face touched Castiel's neck. But, this was a scary thing, being so reliant upon a near-stranger for comfort. And, Dean knew he could trust his nose about this, he did, for no alpha had ever smelled like this to him. Perversely, that fear only made Dean clutch at Castiel's shirt, shove himself against the man to get his warmth and strength.

“You said you didn't understand why I'd let you abuse me when I wouldn't let anyone else,” Dean whispered, feeling Castiel stiffen up with guilt. The smell of his regret choked Dean. “It didn't _feel_ like I was being abused, Cas. It felt like I was doing what I _needed_ to do. That's never happened to me before, with an alpha. I'm as confused as you are.”

“Dean,” Castiel said in Dean's hair. It was a lament.

“Some other alpha would have _never_ made me bow,” Dean said, feeling a painful squeezing in his heart. “I'd have fought and rebelled. I'm sorry, but it looks like we both got more than we thought we would. I hate the idea I'm pushing you into this... this _role_.”

“Shhh,” Castiel said, holding Dean even tighter. “Don't worry about me, Dean. Yes, I got more than I thought. But, that's a good thing, for me. I enjoy your company. I do. If that means feeding you, and taking care of you, that's no burden.”

“You don't like it,” Dean protested.

Castiel let out a long sigh. “Well, that's... That's actually not the problem, Dean. The problem is that I _do_ like it.”

Dean went still, listening to the sound of their labored breathing for a moment. “What?”

“Dean, my entire life has been about fighting the alpha encoding,” Castiel explained softly. “Being more than a knot-head. You know. Sensible instead of instinctual.” He pressed his cheek against Dean's hair, and sighed again. “Once I accepted I'd have to be responsible for food getting into your mouth, I...”

Silence, for a time.

“I'll say this plainly, since you've been good enough to offer that to me as well,” Castiel said at last. “Every time I feed you it's a little bit harder to remember why I'm fighting the alpha in my blood. I get lost in the experience, in watching how much you enjoy it. And, I think to myself that if you like it so much, why shouldn't I?”

Dean felt a helpless smile moving his mouth. “We're the same.”

“I really think so, yes,” Castiel agreed softly. “Where it matters.”

Dean relaxed in Castiel's arms, drifting in the relief of confession and a renewed sense of hope. They could do this together. It wasn't a tragedy. Dean felt attracted, and Castiel felt attracted. Neither of them wanted to jump off the cliff headlong.

Very deliberately, Dean shoved away all thoughts of the cellar, and how easily Castiel had made him come.

Someone knocked at the door. “Sir?”

Charlie.

“Yes?” Castiel asked.

“Madam Novak wishes to know if you intend to bring Dean down for supper.”

Castiel sighed.

“I can eat, Cas,” Dean whispered. “Better to show up, right?”

“We'll be down in ten minutes,” Castiel replied. “Start without us.”

“All right, sir,” Charlie answered.

Dean wanted to have this evening on quieter terms, but he wasn't getting that anytime soon, he knew.

Castiel helped him to sit up. “Is this what you want to wear?” He ran a finger down the edge of Dean's jinbaori, feeling the smooth seam. “This is lovely.”

“Sonny made it for me when I completed my fan training,” Dean admitted. “It's a light weight garment. Sonny told me that there wasn't anything shameful about wearing something made for a warrior, because mastery of the fan makes you a warrior.” He slid off the bed, and stood. “I'd like a good deal of wine tonight, Cas, if you wouldn't mind.”

“You'll drink the first glass from my lips,” Castiel answered firmly. “After that, I will start pouring for you.”

Dean shivered at hearing Castiel get a little bossy on his behalf. He smiled and put on his shoes. “After you, Cas.”

 

* * *

 

 

A warm front had moved in while Dean napped, so he felt surprised the tables had been set outside. Just like for the bear roast, all the tables had been moved to make one, enormous long one. Dean smelled fried onions, the fish, cornbread and sweet potatoes. His mouth watering, he accepted Castiel's aid in sitting on a thick cushion.

“Glad you two could make it,” Zachariah said in a most jovial tone. “This fish is very good. Well, everything is, but we've never had this kind before. Reminds me of tilapia.”

Castiel took a drink of wine and immediately offered it to Dean.

Dean almost hated himself for the way this gesture turned him to goo inside. Really. But, 'almost' wasn't quite enough to stop him. Because, Castiel's mouth was about the most tempting thing, ever, and the kindness of his quick attention made most other thoughts go away very fast.

Castiel fussed with getting a few servings of different things, and cutting up the food into bites. “Are we smoking this fish, Bill?” He asked.

“We are, sir,” Bill verified. “Did a little experimenting with how to get the bones out, and decided to debone most of what we set aside for smoking. It takes awhile, unless Dean has a trick up his sleeve for that. He certainly did for catching the things. I wish you'd seen him.”

Castiel smiled down at Dean softly. “So do I,” he said. He gave Dean another drink, then offered him a fluffy morsel of butter-drenched, rosemary seasoned carp. “Maybe he'll demonstrate for me, later.”

“Beggin' your pardon, sir, but I think he ought to show all of us hunters how to do it,” Bill said. “Jo tells me the lake is dangerously close to being overrun by these carp. And, they'll take all the food the other fish need.”

“Oh, a sporting event,” Zachariah said, sounding pleased. “I want to try my hand at this. We Novaks are famous for fishing.”

Dean opened a fan and told Castiel 'yes'.

“Dean has agreed to help,” Castiel informed everyone. “But, he won't be doing anything at all tomorrow. He's been doing too much for us lately. I want him to have a lazy day.” He gave Dean a bite of hot cornbread, looking down into his eyes. “Perhaps a good, long soak in a tub first thing, breakfast brought to him, and back to bed, for a start.”

“What a splendid idea,” Naomi said. “I approve.” She leaned down to pat Dean's head affectionately. “Your tailor asked me this morning if I might consider white for your kimono instead of black with cherry blossoms. He said it might suit the season, and your state, better. I agreed.”

Dean gave Naomi a silent 'thank you'. He felt relieved to know his obi wouldn't clash with the garment.

Castiel fed him a curiously fried stick of sweet potato, which was amazingly seasoned. The look on his face must have been a good one, for his next six bites were the same. Then, Castiel gave him a glass of wine. “You will drink this on your own pace,” he said. “I don't think you could properly relax if I feed it to you, and I want you so relaxed by the end of this meal that I have to pour you into bed like I just poured this wine.”

Dean blushed, and went about some serious drinking. Castiel wouldn't allow him not to eat, however, which seemed to forestall getting too swimmy. It didn't matter. When the weather grew cooler he was given a blanket, and fed a little bit of hot fish stew along with the wine. It was seasoned very well, and went a long way to making Dean feel like bed was a fast-looming thing instead of something that might happen later.

“Dean?” Castiel stroked Dean's cheek with a single finger, just a cautious and considerate way to get his attention, and Dean tried to orient on him. He did. He just couldn't.

“Good night, everyone,” Castiel said, making no apologies or excuses. He picked Dean up, blanket and all, and began carrying him to the house. Dean just floated. He floated through the trip, through the stairs, through being put on the bed and stripped. He hadn't a protest or a thought. He felt himself getting dressed in light silk short pants. A damp cloth washed his face.

Castiel put Dean into bed and went to build up the fire. When he returned he locked his bedroom door, which Dean had never seen him do. In the warm bed with Dean, finally, in the warm room together, Castiel pulled Dean close. It was an unmistakable gesture. It felt like caring, not coddling.

Dean gratefully slipped fully under.

 

* * *

 

 

The sound of physical exertion awakened Dean gradually, the noises of panting. Then, the amazing smell of Castiel. It was ten times stronger than usual, filled with the tang of sweat and salt. Dean shivered twice before he could open his eyes.

Castiel dangled from a ceiling beam, his feet and ankles locked into leather straps. He was pulling himself up over and over, and Dean watched in fascination as entire ranges of muscle bulged and flexed. The alpha had on only a pair of pants.

Dean noticed a new bathtub, one three times the size as the one that had been in the room last night. And, it was steaming with hot water. He flicked his gaze from Castiel to the tub and back several times, remembering what Castiel had said about getting a bath first thing, being fed, and put back in bed. He decided to go ahead.

Dean slid from bed and walked for the tub. It was right under Castiel. He took off his shorts and got in the water, leaning back and looking directly up at his straining, panting host. “If I tell you the view is amazing, is it too bold?” Dean asked, only half teasing.

Castiel hung limply, arms dangling down, and smiled at Dean. He reached out, dragging a finger down Dean's jaw slowly. “If I tell you I started exercising this morning just so you'd look, would that be too vain?”

Dean angled his face away, but didn't break the contact, still smiling. “I don't know how you manage to make me feel shy. I'm not particularly timid.”

Castiel's low, pleased chuckle turned Dean's spine into a supple piece of rubber. “No, you're not,” Castiel agreed softly. “When it suits you, Dean, you are so very bold.” He slowly took his touch away.

Dean watched as Castiel flexed and got one foot out of the loop. He replaced it with his hand. He slid the other foot free, and, dangling one-handed, rid himself of his pants. Neat as you please, he lowered himself and dropped into the tub.

They had plenty of room, and with the two of them the water level went up nicely. Their backs on opposite sides, facing each other through clouds of intermittent steam, their eyes met and locked.

Dean had never seen eyes like Castiel's. They were alive, bright blue, and possessed of high intelligence. Those qualities could be found in other eyes, he knew that even though that combination hadn't been shown to him before. But, there was something else, too. Something vast in scope and _powerful_.

Castiel fished around for a bar of unscented soap, and picked up Dean's left foot. He braced it on his bent knee and began to wash, using just enough pressure to not tickle.

It felt good.

Dean let his head drop back. He was supposed to be the one offering to wash Castiel, not the other way around. It broke his defenses to get this treatment. The bodily contact alone was more than arresting. It wasn't heat being satisfied, or the kindness of being fed. More personal. Castiel's fingers were long and nimble, strong but careful.

Castiel washed his other foot, and again Dean experienced an odd sense of rightness mixing with wrongness. He should be doing this for his alpha.

Castiel moved his touch down Dean's ankle and up his calf all the way to the knee, not using more soap. Just a tender rubbing of his thumbs across Dean's skin. He treated the other leg the same way.

“Cas...”

“If I own you, can I not touch you whenever I please?” Castiel asked him, low and quiet.

A violent shiver tore through Dean. That was both the best and worst thing he'd ever heard, but coming out of Castiel's mouth it became a vow of some sort. It seemed the alpha in Cas was awakening, gaining new needs and wants. And, Dean had become his focus.

Dean sucked in a breath as Castiel straddled his hips in this larger tub, as Castiel hung over him and placed his hands on Dean's sides. Castiel's thighs felt like hot iron. And, now that the water level had gone down with most of the other man's body being hauled out, Dean knew he'd be able to sneak a forbidden look at his genitals. After their fierce, almost-coupling in the cellar, Dean hadn't felt shy about looking, but that feeling had faded quickly. Now, he felt attracted and afraid.

Castiel stroked up Dean's sides slowly, hands so long that he easily cupped the back of him while his thumbs had a mere few inches of meeting on the front of Dean. And, Dean arched into the contact without any conscious thought, like he had no control over himself. Responding to Castiel freely, body a puppet while the brain marveled over it.

Dean's eyes slid shut at the pleasure of contact, of feeling, at finally getting something he hadn't known he wanted. This, _this_ was what he'd been fighting all these years. Intimacy with an alpha. But, Castiel wasn't just any alpha. Castiel was the alpha Dean's body actually wanted. And, Dean _still_ didn't know why. He didn't understand what had made him immediately submit to Castiel.

Those careful, seditious hands palmed Dean's pectorals, placing Dean's hardened nipples in the hollows and making slow circles just to feel the puckered tension in the flesh. Dean let out a moan of shock and surrender. He panted, head thrown back and arms on the sides of the tub to clench hands down on the heated metal. Barely had he time to register what was happening before Castiel's exploration went upward, fingers stroking over shoulders to map the way Dean was made there.

“It amazes me you have no idea how lovely you are,” Castiel murmured, hands now moving with slow intent toward Dean's neck. “Someone should have told you, Dean. Someone should have told you without it being a segue into owning you, or taking your body.” Castiel wrapped his fingers behind Dean's neck, his right palm over the mating bite, which had begun to throb.

The bite wasn't throbbing in pain, but recognition, and it faintly terrified Dean. The fact that his own body responded to Castiel's touch like this, proved ownership more than papers or a cattle brand.

Castiel let go, and eased back down to his own side of the tub.

Dean let out a wrecked breath. Shuddering, he blindly grabbed for a washcloth, and wrung it out to wipe his face. His skin tingled anywhere Castiel had touched him. “You don't tell a flower that it's beautiful,” he managed to say. “You just pick it, smell it, and put it somewhere you can look at it until it withers.”

“True,” Castiel said, sounding sad. “But, you aren't a flower. You're a precious human being.”

They were quiet, then. Dean washed his upper body while Castiel did the same. He couldn't help stealing glances at Castiel, who was always looking directly at him when he did. The alpha's eyes shone incredibly blue with the light coming in from the window behind Dean. Since they were facing away from the morning sun, the effect was a room of diffused light with misty steam swirling through it, with sharp points of cobalt boring right into Dean intermittently.

“Do you need your hair washed?” Castiel asked softly.

Dean felt his head. It wasn't sticky or dirty. “A rinse is fine,” he reported. He got a bathing cup and poured some water over his head, rubbing it around a little. “Scrubbing off with a towel will be enough. I keep my hair short so I don't have to worry about it getting too hard to handle.”

Castiel smiled a bit, and dumped some shampoo on his head. “Yes, exactly,” he commiserated. “I've tried to express to my brother how important that is, but he insists upon wearing his hair long.”

“Your brother!” Dean blurted. He'd forgotten all about that. “Your parents are making him come here!”

“Yes, I know. Mother told me already. Samandriel will be here within a fortnight.” Castiel took the cup from Dean, and rinsed his head.

“Cas, I'm so sorry, I forgot to mention-.”

“It's fine, Dean,” Castiel assured, slicking soap from his hair. “You've had a lot on your mind. I don't expect you to play between me and my parents, anyway. God forbid.” He conditioned his hair, sitting back to let it soak in. “Even Mother doesn't expect that. She intercepted me right after your breakfast together so there wouldn't be any division of loyalties. You've managed to bring out the best in her, and I do thank you for that.”

“She's just...” Dean sighed, and gave up on avoiding Castiel's disturbingly probing gaze. “She's hoping for children right away. You know that.”

“Yes,” Castiel admitted. “You have to initiate that, Dean. I'm not doing that to you unless I'm asked.”

Dean felt a frission of shock going all the way down to his toes. “That means avoiding me during heat, Cas,” he whispered.

“As Crowley is dosing you every time you begin to go into heat, that's not an issue, is it?” Castiel asked softly.

Dean cringed. _Damage control, damage control_ , his mind chanted. He didn't want another incident like what happened with Charlie's gossip. “You knew.”

“I reasoned,” Castiel corrected. “I can smell it when an omega is about to go into heat. And, twice, it's begun in you and been forestalled. Crowley is clever, and I know his mother was a witch. You've had close contact with him. It was a natural enough deduction.”

“Cas, I-.”

“Don't ever apologize to me for taking control of your own reproductive system,” Castiel ordered firmly. “It's sensible of you, and natural. I suppose now you can inform Crowley of why he's been getting the best equipment, and favored treatment. He took being moved into the manor with aplomb, but I could see him wondering why he hadn't been given a cabin and left to fend for himself.” Castiel lazily splashed water up to his throat and closed his eyes at pleasure from the brief burst of warmth. “He's likely anxious, down inside, over the fact he's gotten a private room and his own servant.”

Dean could only stare at Castiel.

“I wasn't aware heat could be controlled,” Castiel said thoughtfully. “I can easily imagine that Crowley keeps his knowledge close because there are a lot of alphas that would want his blood if he began helping omegas. It was brave of you to ask for his help, and brave of him to come at my summoning the other night. He'd have had no idea how much you told me, if anything. Yet, he played it off very well, didn't he? He examined you, and informed what needed done while seeming just an omega knowledgeable in omega issues, not as an omega with special training in witchery and herbs.”

Dean swallowed hard, and made himself busy scrubbing behind his ears.

“He can't let his talents be generally known, especially since we're about to get an influx of servants from St. Addams' household, but you can ferret out the omegas that are trustworthy, I imagine,” Castiel said. “Kevin will appreciate Crowley's more arcane art, I'm sure.”

“Yeah,” Dean croaked. Damn, but he hadn't imagined Castiel would have noticed or 'deduced' all this. The man was smart, but he was also gone a lot of the time

“I've surprised you,” Castiel murmured, smiling. “That's a good feeling, honestly. You moved in here and immediately started improving things I had no thought towards. Makes me feel better to know you aren't completely omniscient.”

Dean searched for the meaning of that word and came up with nothing.

“All knowing,” Castiel told him gently.

“Thanks,” Dean said, now feeling subdued.

“Don't feel bad for not knowing a word like that,” Castiel said. “You're well educated, Dean. Even my parents can't use Arcalan long-character. They understand it, but they can't form the characters properly. It's amazing to think you know a language system that has an individual symbol for every word. That you lag behind on simple English isn't unusual. There's only so much room in your brain. Besides, you still have a better grasp of English than most, even titled, landed alphas.”

“My mother used Arcalan long-character,” Dean said. “And, so did Sonny. When he saw I didn't know English, he used the Arcalan long form while teaching me the English.”

Castiel nodded. “I'm putting aside a monthly stipend for Sonny, to the amount of a thousand gold. I hope that he'll be able to expand his school and take in more omegas. From what I've seen the man is kind and intelligent, and can use the support.”

“That's a lot of money,” Dean breathed.

“It really isn't,” Castiel corrected. “I expect you to team up with Meg for the running of this household financially. You won't until you're officially mine, but once you are, Dean, you will be the second in command, here. My partner in managing the estate. It would be expected of any spouse.”

“I'm property,” Dean protested.

“You're Dean,” Castiel said. “You're my property, but you're also your own property. If anyone has trouble with that, it's not _your_ problem. It's _my_ problem.” Castiel paused to take a bath sheet, draping it over the middle of the tub. It was only then that Dean heard footsteps approaching the door.

“Sir?”

Charlie.

“Come in, Charlie,” Castiel bade.

Charlie entered with a large tray balanced in one hand. She put it on the wide, empty sideboard, and took a stack of linen napkins from the sash of her dress. Those she placed to the left. “Ellen made you brunch,” she explained in her bright, cheerful manner. “A lot of it, to judge by how heavy it was. Also, you have some post. Oh, and your father sends word that the new servants will be arriving in the morning. St. Addams lost against the Novak family suit. As we speak he is being taken to Monmouth in irons. I don't expect him to actually survive the trip.”

“Yes, he's been ill,” Castiel mused. “Thank you, Charlie. Please check on us around supper time. Oh, and tell me how goes the construction.”

“It's ready,” Charlie said, sounding satisfied. “No more outdoor trips to the privy if you don't want. The closet up here was converted this morning.”

“Excellent. I didn't like Dean having to run outside for his humbling needs.” He waved his arm backward. “See you later, Charlie.”

“Bye, Master Novak.” Charlie fairly skipped out.

“The closet between this room and the bend of the hallway, is now an indoor privy,” Castiel informed, getting out of the tub.

Dean averted his eyes as he'd been taught, but not before getting a spectacular view of Castiel's perfect ass. “H-how is that possible?” He asked.

“We've been experimenting with composting,” Castiel told him, wrapping a towel around his waist. “Once the small toilet is full, the bottom chamber is removed and taken to a pile far away from the house. So. No more going outside in the cold, not unless you want to. I'll find it nice to not have to get entirely dressed just to relieve myself. I confess I hated even that servants had to come up here and retrieve my pee.”

Dean smirked.

Castiel turned his head just in time to see that look, and smirked right back. He stuck his foot under the bed and pulled out a low stool, like what you'd use for milking a cow, but it had a very, very thick cushion, making it look somewhat like a mushroom. “This, you insolent creature, is your very own dining stool,” he said. “If you want I can still feed you in public from the floor, but here it will be easier on us both if you aren't quite so far down below me.”

Dean got out of the tub. “Thank you, Cas.” He got a towel, and wrapped it around his waist.

“Hmm,” Castiel hummed. “Come and sit down by my desk. You need some food before I put you back into bed.” He put the tray there, and moved the stool to sit beside his chair.

Dean obeyed. The soft stool felt pretty good. He sat about a head and a half down from Castiel this way. This would probably be easier on Castiel's neck.

Castiel lifted the cover off the tray. “Oh, a nice selection,” he said. “I'll start you off with the broth.”

Dean again fell into the luxury and kindness of being fed. The broth proved to be beef with ginger and a little malted sugar, which stimulated his sleeping belly. He felt a deep-down quiver every time Castiel's mouth pressed against his own. It took almost ten minutes to drink it, and he loved every second.

“Now,” Castiel said, putting the cup down, “we'll try the smoked fish and scrambled eggs.” He washed his hands in the bowl provided for that purpose, and wiped them on a napkin. “Your blissed-out expression, Dean, is really working on my resolve. Please torture me all you like.”

Dean smiled before accepting a good bite of smoked fish and hot, fluffy egg. Oh, it was good, and even better, Castiel's pleased smile.

“Good?” Castiel had a bite with his hands, too. “Oh, yes. Ellen is a kitchen miracle.” He gave Dean another portion, still smiling. “I can't think of why I resisted feeding you, right now. You make it an absolute joy.”

“It makes me feel treasured,” Dean told him quietly.

“You are treasured,” Castiel said, his smile dropping away to sobriety tinged with caring and softness. He fed Dean another bite. “Only an idiot could miss how important you are.” He turned his attention back to the tray, and cut something, his hand coming back down with a strip of buttered garlic toast. “Keep a bit of that in your mouth and try it with the fish and eggs,” he suggested.

Dean did as asked and found the combination excellent. “Mmm,” he said.

Castiel copied him. “Oh, yes,” he said lowly.

And so, brunch went very well. Dean ate everything offered, down to the individual cherries and spoon-fed yogurt. They'd had to make a concession for that, because it proved too awkward to give it by mouth or hand.

When finished, Castiel put the tray outside the door. “I'm going to try the indoor facilities,” he announced. “Find what you want to return to the bed in, and take your turn after me. We don't want a full bladder interfering with the experience of eating and going back to sleep, do we?”

“No, we don't,” Dean agreed.

While Castiel was gone, Dean chose a pair of black silk trousers and put them on. He called men upstairs to empty the tub, and lay in the bed with the curtains closed while they worked. Castiel returned and got in the bed, too.

“Shy?” Castiel whispered. “You don't want anyone to see you this morning?”

“No one but you,” Dean confessed, his neck and face heating up. “It feels like today is for me. Am I wrong?”

“No.” Castiel stroked his jaw a single time, gently, his eyes so deep and dark that Dean felt he could fall into them. “Today is only for you, Dean.”

Dean relaxed down, waiting, smelling the clean, compelling scent of his alpha. Once the men were gone he struggled up and made his trip to the toilet closet. It was just a small, small room with the composting toilet and a stand with pitcher and bowl. He made quick work of all humanizing business, washed his hands, and returned to Castiel's bedroom. He made sure to carefully clean his feet before getting back into bed.

“Close to me,” Castiel ordered gently, getting his arm under Dean's shoulders. “I sleep so much better now that I have you in this bed, Dean. I swear you put off a scent that drugs me.”

Dean nestled closer, daring to put an arm over Castiel's trim little waist. “Same here, Cas,” he admitted. “I say we relent to that, since we're stuck with each other.”

Castiel's little half-chuckle, half-hum was nothing but pleasure. “Sleep, Dean,” he said, stroking a hand down Dean's chest. “When you awaken, I'll still be here.”

Dean happily, gratefully fell asleep.

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

When Dean awakened, Castiel was indeed still beside him. He had a book in his hands, reading in the dim light. Dean couldn't have read anything in this light, and ventured to say so.

“I have better than perfect vision,” Castiel told him with a smile. “Better than anyone in my family, actually.” He slid a marker into the book, and dropped it onto the bed. “What would you like to do now, Dean? We don't have to stay in this room, not if you don't wish to.”

Dean thought he should probably work on his obi, but he wanted the sight of it to be a surprise, so he vetoed it. He'd like to ride with Castiel back to the hives, have another taste of that honey right from the source, but perhaps that wasn't feasible. Besides, it was cold outside. He could tell by the slight draft under the door. He licked his lips, thinking about how much he'd like to know about Castiel himself. “Could we talk?” He asked.

“Of course.” Castiel got on his side, propping his head with his fist on bent elbow. “Would you like to discuss our future together, or maybe the manor?”

“No... No, I want to talk about our brothers,” Dean said. “They're both named Sam, and that seems a little interesting to me.”

Castiel smiled. “I had that thought, too,” he admitted. “Well, I hope yours didn't turn out like mine,” he went on. “My brother is the very epitome of what not to become when born into riches and power. He likes nothing more than to spend his time in gambling houses, or horse races, or omega pens.”

“At least you know where he is,” Dean said. “I haven't seen mine since Dad dragged me off to Sonny's. I don't even know how he presented. I guess if he became an omega he'd have ended up at Sonny's as well, so there's that.”

Castiel's face, which had been open and soft, began to harden. “You've had no contact with your father and brother since being put in the omega school?”

“No. Dad was ashamed of me. He didn't want me, and he didn't want me around Sammy,” Dean said.

Castiel closed his eyes a moment. “When you said...” He stopped, and cleared his throat. “When I asked you where your brother was, you said you didn't know. I took that to mean you'd lost contact due to normal causes, like him serving in the military, or just a case of brothers having their own lives.”

“I didn't go into it on purpose,” Dean told him. “It's painful. He was eight when Dad took me to the capitol to have me registered as a breeder, and from there I went directly to Sonny's. Sonny helped me write letters to Sam for the first few years, but he stopped helping once I turned seventeen. He told me that it was obvious I needed to begin my life anew, without any ties of my old one. That it would be best if I didn't cling to a love that wasn't returned.” Dean picked at the fine linen sheet a moment, his eyes lowered. “I think that was right, you know? I think Sonny had the right idea. If I'd been still trying to... If I'd been thinking about Sam and Dad while I was there, I wouldn't have been able to adjust at all.”

Castiel nodded slowly, but his eyes were burning blue almost like the sun was behind them.

“So, I focused on the fan, and on my studies,” Dean said. “After awhile it got easier to ignore how much I missed Sammy, to put my mom's death into the back of my head. To not think about how much I resented my father.”

“But, those things couldn't ever go away entirely,” Castiel said softly.

“No. I'd like to know what happened to my brother.” Dean dropped his head to a pillow and looked up at Castiel. “He was such a cute kid, and so smart. His eyes were hazel, and always looking at everything. He asked 'why' no matter what you told him. His big dream in life was to be a hero, to save people from brigands and robbers, rescue helpless maidens, that sort of thing.”

Dean smiled just remembering his brother's open, honest joy when they'd play pretend, and Dean took the role of the helpless prince or princess. “He probably did go into the military, come to think of it. He thought it would be awesome to fend off pirates, or the forces of Maholak.”

“If he did, Dean, then he will be easier to find.” Castiel rolled out of bed, throwing the curtains back. “Let's write a letter together, right now. My father has many soldiers, and it's possible Sam is in the ranks. We can try, anyway.”

Heart beating fast, Dean got the only other hard chair in the room, taking it to Castiel's desk while Castiel searched his letterhead. “I almost don't want to hope,” he confessed.

“Never, ever give up hope,” Castiel said as he chose a beautiful, onionskin paper with his family crest at the top. It was a shield with wings coming out at the sides, a sword in the center, and words in an unfamiliar language written on the blade. “You take a piece of paper. Write to your brother personally while I compose another one,” he suggested. “Does your brother read and write Arcalan long-character the same as you?”

“He should to a point,” Dean said after thinking about it a moment. “He had the fundamentals from Mom, like I did, and I can bet he kept up with studying it after she and I were gone.”

Castiel nodded. “Dean... Is it possible that your father would know where your brother is?” He asked gently. “I can intervene...”

“You could, if I knew where my old home was,” Dean said, feeling ashamed of his circumstances all over again. “He put me in a... I wasn't allowed to see the journey to the capitol, or the journey to Sonny's. I have no idea how far we are to my old house. It could be five miles or five hundred.”

Castiel bowed his head, and breathed in and out through his nose. Dean smelled anger, hot, boiling anger coming off of him, and fought to not cringe back from it. Castiel wasn't mad at him. He told himself that while the alpha regained control.

“God help your father if I ever encounter him,” Castiel said, dipping his quill into his ink pot. His anger had not gone, but simmered far back, to judge by his scent. “Do you need a brush, Dean, to properly make your Arcalan symbols?”

“That would be best,” Dean answered.

Castiel got him a small, finely tipped brush, and a cloth for wiping off excess ink. Dean settled before his paper and looked at it, trying to figure out how best to start a letter to Sam. His sweet, smart little Sammy would be twenty-two now, and probably didn't even remember him.

 **Dear Sam** , he wrote. **You may not remember me. I'm Dean, your big brother. I was taken from you when you were small, eight years old, actually**. Dean paused and thought. **I've been in an omega school since then, unable to leave or try to contact you. I wrote you letters for years, but I got none in return. I figured Dad was burning them, or at least not giving them to you**. Dean rubbed his forehead, feeling pained. **I never gave up on you, Sam. I eventually had to stop writing letters, though, as I had to train and learn the things that would make my life as an omega easier**.

 **But, things have changed. I was purchased by an alpha** _ **.**_ Here, Dean had to creatively combine brush strokes to make a phonetic of Castiel's name, followed by the Novak character. Novak was well known enough to have an Arcalan long-character symbol, but Castiel was not. **He has been kind to me, very generous, and I am to be formally his breeding property in a few week's time**. No sense in sugar-coating it. It was a marriage, but it wasn't. **He and I hope that you are in the military, perhaps in the service of the Novak family. And, I'm writing this letter in order to find you**.

 **Sam, regardless of how you think of me, I didn't leave you because I wanted to. That was out of my control. I hope that this letter finds you safe and well. I hope that you contact me when it reaches your hands. Any letter you send back should be addressed to Castiel Novak, Tor-Valen Estate, Dark Woods, Panomu. Please, send word back even if you cannot bear the idea of seeing me. I need to know you're alive and well**.

Dean closed by saying he loved him, and sat back, feeling winded.

“Trade?” Castiel asked.

Dean slid his letter over and accepted the other. Castiel's impressive, looping short-script was full of broad strokes that tapered to fine lines. It looked like a piece of art.

 **This letter is to be read, copied, and forwarded to each garrison in the Novak military, whether by sea or land** , it began.

**On behalf of myself and my father, Zachariah Novak, this letter is an attempt to find a young man named Sam Winchester. Important news about his family is enclosed in this missive, and is to be delivered to him with haste. A reward of fifty thousand gold pieces will be given to the man or woman who puts the enclosed letter into Sam Winchester's hands. This is written on the authority of the Novak family.**

Below this was Castiel's signature, and Castiel had pressed his signet ring into a glob of red wax.

“It seems fine,” Dean said.

Castiel nodded shortly. He tucked Dean's letter into his own, folded and put them into a large, crisp envelope. It was addressed to Rufus Turner, Captain of the Guard, East Battalion, Panomu, quickly, and then flipped over and sealed with more wax and Castiel's signet ring.

“Excuse me, Dean,” Castiel said, rising with the envelope. “I'm going to give this to Bobby right now, and he will hand deliver it to Mr. Turner by morning, I swear it.” With that, Castiel was out the door.

Dean stared at Castiel's desk for a long time. Then, he got into bed. He went to sleep feeling numb.

 

* * *

 

 

Dean knew that Castiel slept with him during the night, but only vaguely. When he awakened at dawn there was a note pinned to Castiel's pillow for him to read.

 **Dean** , it read. **I hope you slept better than it appeared. This morning I am in town to arrange a group of mercenaries to supplement finding your brother, because it is possible he didn't enter the military. I will choose the best people for the job, never fear. I should be home by dark. Try to take this day with some hope. Eat, if you can. Yours, Castiel**.

Dean sighed heavily. He got up, dressed in brown linen trousers, a kimono underlayer, then a green kimono. He put on the shoes Naomi had made, and went downstairs. He found breakfast already done and Ellen's maids cleaning up, also Kevin, but Ellen motioned him to the prep table. “Have some breakfast, Dean, dear,” she said, giving him a plate of fish and egg scramble with buttered toast. “The master is on an errand in town this morning.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “He's trying to find my brother for me.” He took up a fork and started eating, suddenly so depressed he could barely stand it.

“He's trying to find Sam?” Kevin asked quickly. “That's... that's great, Dean!”

“I hope he succeeds,” Ellen said, though she had no idea of the history, or what was going on. “Is he older than you or younger?”

“Four years younger,” Dean said. The toast was good, but he struggled to swallow. “Dad took me from him pretty young. I don't know what happened to him.

“That's terrible,” Ellen said. She sat beside of him, putting her arm around his shoulders. “If anyone can find your brother, though, it's Master Novak. Try to have some faith.”

“It's hard to,” Dean admitted. “A lot of years have gone by.”

“Well, if he'd presented as an omega, then he'd have gone to Sonny's, probably,” Kevin pointed out. “A beta or an alpha has an easier time, usually, so there's every reason to have hope.”

Dean nodded. He really couldn't keep up a conversation about Sam, not not right now. Perhaps everyone sensed that, for they mostly fell quiet after that. When Dean finished, and went to wash his dish and cup, Kevin stood beside of him.

“Hey, Dean?” His voice was nervous, but in a good way.

“Yeah, Kev?” Dean asked.

“I set you up some balance beams and poles at the lake,” Kevin said, surprising him. “Well, Bill and Jo did most of it. They wouldn't let me do any of the heavy lifting.” He pulled a face, then. “I just thought it had been awhile since you got to do your fan katas the right way...”

“Kevin, that is the best news I've had in awhile,” Dean said fervently. “That's exactly what I need right now.” He dropped his dishes in the drainer, and wiped his hands. “I'll get out there as soon as I have an escort.”

“Bill will take you,” Kevin said. “He's going out there to practice fishing like _we_ were taught to.” He paused to smile at Dean. “I think he wants to get more people into eating those Asian carp.”

“Is that what they're called?” Dean asked.

“Dean, where do you think I came from?” Kevin asked, lifting an eyebrow. “All the stuff Sonny teaches? He knows my family. Since before I was born, actually. I was shipped here because my parents couldn't raise one more omega. I was the fifth one.”

“Oh.” Dean felt find of stupid, now. “Sorry, Kevin. Sonny didn't say. He doesn't talk about how any of his students get to his school.”

“I know.” Kevin shrugged.

“Wait a minute,” Dean said. “You come from the culture that introduced the fan as a weapon, and you can't be bothered to learn?”

Kevin rolled his eyes. “Dean. I'm not in love with my own culture. I grew up in it.”

“Point.” Dean clapped him on the shoulder. “I'll go ask Bill to take me to the lake with him. Thanks.”

“No problem.” Kevin slid him a smile before picking up a handy broom to start sweeping the kitchen.

Bill was right outside the manor, hooking up a horse-drawn sledge. Dean expected he had high hopes of getting more fish. “Hey, Dean,” the tall, broad alpha greeted. “Going with me? I thought I'd play it safe and bring a net just in case I prove terrible at fishing the way you do.”

“I'd like to go, yes,” Dean answered. “I'll walk behind you, if you don't care. I don't have much confidence on a horse.”

Bill grinned. “All right, suit yourself.” He vaulted up onto the horse. “We'll go slowly.”

It only took ten minutes to get to the lake. Once there, Bill tethered the horse and showed Dean his spear. He informed it was for 'gigging frogs', but thought it might do the job. Dean agreed. Five tines with barbed ends might actually do it.

“What's this?” Bill asked, looking at the network of balance beams and independent poles. “Kevin tried to explain to me they were for your fan exercises, but I confess I didn't understand.”

“Balance while fighting,” Dean said, hoisting himself up to the nearest beam and taking out his fans. “If you can perform the katas on these, it's easier to fight on the ground.”

Bill only nodded and began the fish hunt.

Dean lost himself for a good two hours in performing all his katas. He did them over and over until sweating, enjoying every bit of the exertion. Beam to pole, balance, pole to pole, balance; he was good at this, and he challenged himself to be better, pushed his limits. High above the ground he could perform deeper dips with the fans, because the ground just wasn't in the way.

Dean was balancing on one foot with the other lifted high when he noticed Castiel was sitting on a sandbar, watching him. Slowly, he lowered his foot and perched on the small circumference of the pole. He bowed.

Castiel smiled.

Dean dove off, grabbed the slender pole that connected one beam to an independent post, and flipped himself into the air. And, he held himself in that dive position, arms braced outward and legs together, his face pointing toward the earth. And, he held it. And held it. And held it. He was showing off for his alpha, and he knew Castiel would know that. It didn't stop him from holding himself up five entire minutes. When his arms grew tired of keeping him balanced, he curled his legs under, did two flips, and dismounted.

Castiel was there with him quickly, standing in his personal space with his nostrils flaring to catch the scent of Dean's sweat. “You impress me over and over,” he said. “You're very graceful and strong, Dean.”

“Not as strong as you,” Dean said. He was okay with that, too. “I did the last part just to get a reaction out of you, you know.”

Castiel's little smile was infectious. “Yes, and that knowledge didn't detract from your display in the slightest,” he swore.

They grinned at each other.

“Bill,” Castiel turned his head to call out. “I'm taking Dean with me.”

“Never expected he'd rather stay out here with me, sir,” Bill shouted in their direction.

Castiel bent his arm and offered Dean his elbow. “Walk with me, Dean.”

Dean took that elbow, leaving a fan in that hand.

Always protect what's yours.

Castiel led him farther down the lake shore, keeping their pace sedate. “It's beautiful here, isn't it? My grandparents built the manor on this spot because of the lake. I come from a long line of anglers.”

“Your parents own the oceans, practically,” Dean replied.

“Yes. I hope that will bring word to your brother faster,” Castiel said. “The mercenaries I hired this morning will take news even to pirates, so we must be hopeful, Dean. In the meantime, my own brother will arrive. He is due in a few days.” Castiel led Dean through a thicket, holding branches out of his way politely. “His manservant and housemaid are already here; Don and Maggie Stark. I don't particularly like them, as they stir up trouble more than Dre does.”

“Married couple in servitude,” Dean murmured.

“Yes. Both of them alphas, and neither are good at fidelity. Honestly, I don't know why they married. You may end up avoiding them. I certainly will.” Castiel rolled his eyes for emphasis. “One thing about it, though, Dean. I introduced them to the staff, and the look on Crowley's face...” Castiel shook his head. “I expect our resident tailor to regularly clash with the Starks. For that reason I have ordered they receive the first completed cabin. Get them out of the house.”

“You think they might be witches?” Dean asked as Castiel guided him toward a thick grouping of dark green pines.

“I think it's highly probable,” Castiel admitted. “I'm not certain how witches identify each other, but Crowley certainly felt upset by the presence of the Starks.” Castiel held a large branch out of the way, revealing a small boat house and a dock up ahead. “If they cause too much trouble for us, I will take measures to either have them removed, or destroy them,” he added. “One cannot fire a witch, you know. They tend to take revenge in such a way that death comes invisibly and swiftly.”

Dean shivered. “Good times,” he whispered.

“Indeed.” Castiel walked Dean to the end of the dock, and they sat with their legs dangling over the water. “Happier topic,” he said. “This little hut and dock are for your use. I have informed the staff that they aren't to bother you when you come here, Dean. You need a private place. I can see within you a need for regular solitude, and I hope this will help.”

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean said. “Yeah, I need to get away sometimes. I had independent duty at Sonny's, and I like to be alone to think.”

Castiel smiled, and they fell to silence, watching the quiet water. A bluebird flitted down and perched on Cas' shoulder, to Dean's surprise. Castiel stroked it with a single finger, making it shiver and fluff up in delight. It preened his hair a moment before flying off.

“Knows you personally?” Dean joked.

Castiel looked at him in confusion. “The bird? No.”

Dean let out a breath, a feeling of fond exasperation settling in on him. “So, the bees don't mind you robbing them of their honey, and birds just fly down to say 'hello' to you. Your enormous horse does whatever you want it to.”

“Animals are easy to understand. It's people I don't 'get',” Castiel told him. “And, that's a shame, because I love people. I'd like to protect _everyone_. But, I can't.”

Dean frowned, feeling he'd stumbled upon an incongruity. “Cas,” he said gently. “You regularly go and kill people.”

“The bad ones,” Castiel corrected. “Most people aren't bad. I consider my habit of frequenting the Alpha Arrangement as pest extermination, Dean. Also, what kind of life am I taking from them, but the worst sort. After death they may go and meet their maker. I'm not prolonging their agony.”

Well, shit. Dean hadn't thought of it that way. Castiel's reasoning was actually pretty sound, too. Criminals couldn't expect to ever get anything better than prison if they didn't win those bouts. And, with Castiel around, winning wasn't in the cards.

For no reason whatsoever, Dean thought of Castiel's family crest, the one he'd seen on his letterhead with a shield and wings. “Cas... What did the words on the sword mean?  On your letterhead?” He asked.

“Day of wrath, or Judgment Day, to the best and greatest god,” Cas told him quietly. “In the case of my family, 'god' is capitalized. There is only one God.”

A cool breeze whipped up from the surface of the lake, but that wasn't what made Dean shiver. “God?” He asked. “Like, the long-dead Christian religion?”

“It isn't dead, merely sleeping,” Castiel said. “Would you like to learn about it, Dean?”

Dean hadn't been brought up with any kind of religion. His father had been proud to proclaim himself free of religion. “I'll think about it,” he promised.

Castiel smiled gently, his blue eyes searching the lake surface. “Inside the boat house is a fireplace, and some wicker furniture. Anything you might want to eat or drink you'll have to bring here,” he said. “I don't worry for your safety from people, mostly because you're adept at defending yourself, but you should learn a long distance weapon to protect yourself from wildlife. Jo should be able to teach you the bow or crossbow fairly quickly.”

“I'm not allowed to have weapons,” Dean reminded him.

“You are my omega, and if I declare you fit to carry a weapon, you are. No one will protest it, and if they do, you are to speak to me.” Castiel turned his head to look Dean directly in the eyes. “You are far too precious to waste, especially due to something as idiotic as the no-weapons rule enacted for omegas. I won't have harm befall you because of alpha idiocy.”

Dean lowered his head to show he heard and understood. His heart pounded in excitement at the thought of learning a new weapon with _permission_.

“In fact,” Castiel went on, “I have to consider that all the people here at Tor-Valen need to learn a way to defend themselves. Consider the bear Jo killed. I will arrange mandatory archery lessons for the entire staff.”

“That will take some of the pressure off your omegas,” Dean said. He approved. “Make it a matter of survival, and no one can complain about armed omegas.”

“Yes. Very cunning of me,” Castiel said dryly, his lips twitching.

Dean smiled. “Thanks for the private boat house, Cas.”

“You're very welcome, Dean.”


	15. Chapter 15

The next three days were chaos at Tor-Valen. The influx of new servants caused some confusion, and more than a little bit of territorial pecking. Castiel, called away to deal with a legal matter in town, ended up having to stay there, to Dean's disappointment. In lieu of having the orders of the master of the house, Meg was consulted on all matters.

Dean thought she'd have been okay, ordinarily, but St. Addams' staff challenged her. They weren't accustomed to answering to a female butler. St. Addams' butler was the worst instigator, trying to tell Meg what to do and generally behaving like a priss. Ellen couldn't stand the man, either, and displayed that by turning in another direction any time he came into her kitchen to give orders. She ignored him.

Finally, fed up with all the disturbance, Dean took a trip to the east wing and knocked on Naomi's door. He needed a dose of the woman's practicality and stability.

“Come in, Dean,” her voice called out, and Dean had no idea how she knew it was him.

He came in with his embroidery, and shut the door. “Please shelter me from the noise and commotion,” he said.

“Of course, dear,” she said, patting a chair. She had a book out. Zachariah was nowhere to be seen. “I'd be out there knocking heads together if it wouldn't undermine Castiel's normal staff,” she confided. “What are you working on?”

“My obi for the wedding kimono,” Dean told her, handing over the thing. He'd gotten five feet of it done during his episode of hiding from everyone. “I'm almost finished.”

Naomi handled the piece reverently, her eyes wide and admiring. “Oh, Dean, this is beautiful,” she breathed. “It's exquisite!”

Dean sat in the chair she'd suggested. “I chose silver-blue for the fabric as a well-wish for the family's prosperity and as my own pledge to be trustworthy,” he explained quietly. “The willow branches show that I will bend to Castiel without breaking. The cherry blossoms you know, but I showed them fading because I'm not a young omega anymore. That's a declaration of ripening to bear fruit.” He traced the nearest magpie with a finger. “This bird is for happiness, stability, and family unity. I hope to be nothing but a benefit to the Novak name.”

Naomi looked up at him, her eyes watering. “My dear, you already are,” she vowed. “And, this is going to look perfect with a white kimono. What sort of knot will you be using with this obi?”

“I'll use the service knot, but I'll have some fabric set aside, folded to look like a fan,” Dean explained. “I'll pin it over the knot.” He put his fabric in place, and took his thread out. “I should have this finished today, if I'm allowed to be here with you, uninterrupted.”

“You stay as long as you like, Dean, dear,” Naomi said. “I'm just reading. Zach will be back before too long, but we can send him away if he gets pesty.”

Dean grinned and got to work. It soothed him, the embroidery, and he began thinking about what his life might prove to become as Castiel's bonded omega. So far, it wasn't bad. He was warm and fed, surrounded by caring people. At night he usually got to sleep with Castiel, which gave him a feeling of protection.

“Your son is very handsome,” he surprised himself by blurting out.

Naomi chuckled lightly. “Isn't he?” She replied. “Such an _angel_ , Castiel.”

Dean had heard that word before, but he didn't understand the context of it. “What is an angel, Madam Naomi?”

Naomi looked at him over the top of her book. “You don't know, dear?”

“I've heard the word, but I never really understood what it meant,” he admitted.

Naomi nodded, and put down her book. “By this time there are few that know,” she said. “An angel is a messenger of God, a servant of great power, a dispatcher of God's justice and wrath. They are beautiful without exception.”

“Oh.” Dean thought that Castiel seemed rather suited to be called an angel, then, by that last description. “Cas was telling me about God a few days ago,” he said. “He said there's only one God.”

“That's true, dear,” Naomi affirmed softly. “The Novak family has it's roots in worshiping the one, true God. It's why our family motto is an assertion of divine justice.”

Dean made a few stitches, and kept his head down. “Am I... expected to worship?”

“No, dear. God has a way of pulling people to his side without any interference. Anyone who insists you worship the way they do is a villain. Free will is the most important edict. Remember that. Castiel is a perfect example of taking free will to heart, else he would not so violently oppose the subjugation of omega peoples.” Naomi smiled at Dean a little, her dark blue eyes sparkling. “I'm glad you ask questions, and want to know about the family you're marrying into. Once you meet my other son, you'll appreciate the one you got a lot more. Trust me.”

Dean smiled back. “It's hard not to appreciate Cas anyway,” he said.

“Yes, I know,” she said, smirking. “He has a good heart, high ideals, and a developed sense of sobriety. Yet, he does manage to also have a sense of humor. He's a little slow on the uptake at times, but that's just because he's not here on this plane of existence with the rest of us very much. God only knows what thoughts are in his head.” She rolled her eyes in good-humored fun. “Like I told you before, he's an artist. Artists are always more than a little bit insane.”

Smiling, Dean went fully back to work on his obi. An hour drifted by, and another.

Zachariah entered, bringing in a breeze that smelled like rain and high alpha satisfaction. “That Bill Harvelle is a blast,” he said, hanging up his cloak and hat. “We've been fishing for that carp that Dean-.” He stopped, noticing Dean for the first time. “Oh, hello, Dean,” he said cheerfully. “Keeping my wife company?” He noticed what Dean was working on, and his eyebrows went up. “Great Scott, that's beautiful! What talent you have! Dear, did you see-?”

“Yes, I saw,” Naomi interjected. “Honestly, do you think I'm blind? Dean is working on his wedding obi, and I'm sure the sanctuary I'm providing ensures that Castiel won't stumble in upon him and see it early. Do sit down, Zach.”

“You're such a shrew before lunch time,” Zachariah said, still sounding cheerful. He took his scolding, unfazed. He picked up the loose end of the obi, openly admiring Dean's work. “I would never have the patience for this,” he admitted. “I don't see one stitch badly done.”

“Thank you, Master Zachariah,” Dean said, starting to smile.

Zachariah heavily dropped into an overstuffed chair, and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “Since you're here, and polite enough to pretend interest, unlike another person in this room, I'll tell _you_ my story.” He propped his feet on a stool. “Bill modified a few things, making metal-ended spears for our sport fishing. We were getting pretty good at killing the nuisance fish by the time it started raining. The smokehouse is full to the brim, and that pretty Ellen is pickling fish as we speak.”

“Oh, pickled fish,” Naomi said. “I love that on whole wheat toast with cream cheese.”

“See?” Zachariah waggled his eyebrows at Dean. “She's hungry. That's always what puts her in a mood.”

Dean grinned.

Zachariah grinned right back.

“Any word on Samandriel?” Naomi asked.

“He'll be here tomorrow,” Zachariah answered. “He sent word from the Hideaway Inn a few hours ago. Wore that messenger boy and his donkey out. I don't like how he treats people, dear, I really don't. Maybe Castiel can whip that out of him. I hope so.”

“It isn't how we raised him,” Naomi agreed. “He's been a rebellious little snot from Day One. I think he takes after his great grandfather Alair too much. I mean, look at the portraits.”

“Alair had red hair,” Zachariah mused. “Other than that, yes. Spitting image.”

“Did you put the messenger boy up for the night?” Naomi asked.

“He's getting fed by Ellen right now, and made it known all he wants is a cot in front of the kitchen fireplace,” Zachariah told her, sighing. “Thought about hiring him on to help Bobby, but I don't want to do that without consulting Castiel. Too high handed, you know.”

“Castiel really doesn't have the same sense of offense at maneuvers like that as you do,” Naomi said dryly, turning a page in her book.

Dean finished his embroidery. He had a long, long look at it to make sure it was perfect, but he knew it would be because he'd corrected every bad stitch as he made them. Carefully, he rolled it up and tied it closed with a stray piece of thread. “Madam Naomi? May I leave this here with you?”

“Of course, sweetheart,” she said quickly. “Ready to brave the battleground again? I notice some of the shouting has subsided.”

“Yeah. I want to watch Ellen pickle the fish. I've never seen that done,” Dean said. “Thanks for letting me work in here. I feel better now that the obi is finished.”

“I'm sure you do,” she murmured. “If you need refuge, you come right back, all right? Zach and I enjoy your company a great deal. Before you, coming to Tor-Valen was a lot more... stressful.”

“I'll say,” Zach said, snorting. “I haven't had to correct Castiel on much of anything at all this time around. He's making me quite proud.”

“Be sure you say so,” Naomi said sharply. “Castiel needs his father's approval.”

Dean bowed, and retreated. He left the east wing, entering the informal parlor only to find a knot of unfamiliar servants milling about looking lost. They all looked at him at once, recognizing him as the omega that St. Addams had whipped almost to death. Of course they knew he'd be at Tor-Valen, for servants gossip, and most everyone would know Castiel had bought him.

“You guys look like you have no idea what to be doing,” Dean said gently.

“We don't,” a young beta girl said rather mournfully. “We're used to having duties to perform, but these servants here won't let us help.”

“I get it,” Dean said. “They're being territorial.”

“Yes,” another girl said. “I don't blame them, though. But, Caruthers insists upon intruding. As he's the one who's supposed to be telling _us_ what to do, we just...”

“Caruthers is your butler,” Dean surmised. “Well, how about we all go into the kitchen and get some direction from Ellen? She's nice, I promise.”

Dean had an entourage of fifteen people when going into the large, warm kitchen. Ellen looked up from her work, and gaped. “Dean, honey?”

“They need something to do,” Dean said.

“Well, they can help me, the ones who know kitchen work,” Ellen said, and seven women instantly parted from the group to approach her.

“Well, that leaves eight of you,” Dean said. “What were your duties before?”

“I'm a washer-woman,” an omega said, raising her hand.

“I work with horses,” a beta man said. “The rest of us are just ordinary domestics.”

Dean nodded, and opened Ellen's cleaning closet. “Line up. You guys can start cleaning the lower east wing. We've got important company coming. Stay away from the third and fourth doors on the left of the hall, because that's where Master Novak's parents are, and they like it quiet.” He started filling pails with hot water, throwing cloths down into them. “Any of the regular staff gives you trouble, tell them you have your orders. Leave it at that. Horse-man, you go out to the stables and offer your services to Bobby. He's the boss of you. Washer-woman, you come with me to start stripping beds, okay?”

In short order everyone was settled, and Dean and his helper were on their way upstairs. He led her to his old room. “I don't know where Master Novak's brother will be sleeping,” he explained as she helped him take everything off of the bed. “It could be here, or it could be the east wing, but why leave anything to chance?”

“Yes, sir,” the girl said, nodding emphatically. “Where should I take these?”

“Downstairs, out the front door,” Dean said. “Follow the stone path to the washing house. It's a pretty big cabin with some chairs on the porch. You'll meet the regulars there, probably. Just butt in and act like you belong. No way would anyone in their right mind complain about getting help. And, don't call me 'sir'. Just Dean is fine.”

“Okay, Dean,” she said, smiling. “My name's Kara.”

“Pleased to meet you, Kara,” Dean said, smiling back.

Kara left, looking much more settled than she had at first. Dean went to Castiel's bedroom and plopped down on the bed. He lay there a few minutes, then got up and stoked the fire, adding wood. For lack of anything else to do, and not willing to watch Ellen pickle the fish with so many other people in the kitchen, Dean decided to visit Crowley.

He knocked on the tailor's door quietly. “Crowley?”

The door opened. Crowley pulled Dean inside his room, shut the door and locked it. “Have you seen them?” He asked.

“Who?” Dean asked.

“The Starks,” Crowley said lowly. “Don and Maggie Stark.”

“I knew they were here. Cas said you had a bad look on your face when you saw them.”

“That's because they were in my mother's coven,” Crowley told him. “They know what I am.”

“You know what _they_ are,” Dean pointed out. “They rat you out, and they rat themselves out.”

“Dean, darling, witches aren't normally all that well adjusted,” Crowley informed with put-upon patience. “They're arrogant, mean-spirited, territorial back-stabbers with delusions of grandeur.”

“You were here first, and Cas isn't going to let them bully you,” Dean said, patting his shoulder. “He's already told me that if they make any trouble whatsoever, they're going to vanish.”

Crowley relaxed a bit, his shoulders going from plumb-line straight to a normal position, and his head tilting forward. “Good,” he muttered. “I've been sneaking into their room every time they go out of it, looking for dolls or jars of needles. So far they're playing it safe.”

“I have no idea what jars of needles, or dolls, have to do with anything. I don't think I really want to know,” Dean said. “Let's ring for tea and sit at the picture window, okay? You need a break.”

“I can make us some very nice tea here,” Crowley offered. “We'll just carry it with us.” He went to his fireplace, grabbed a thick cloth, and pulled a kettle down from the iron bar that hung over the flames. “Crockery is in the tea cabinet itself,” he said.

Dean got a few cups and saucers out, and spoons. He watched Crowley warm a tea pot and add leaves, then the boiling water. A cap went on the pot next, then a cozy.

Dean carried the cups, and Crowley carried the tea. They went to the window seat and settled. It was just a touch on the cool side, being in a crook of the hall. But it was okay. They sat and poured, and soon were simply watching the steady rainfall.

“When you clean your comb or hairbrush, burn the hair,” Crowley said quietly, as if they'd be overheard. “Don't throw it in the trash. When you eat, wash the things you dirtied yourself. Don't leave clothing out that you've worn. Put a lock on your closet. Check the bed for any hairs you might have shed during the night. If you leak any bodily fluid, destroy what you clean it up with.”

Dean swallowed. “Okay,” he relented.

“You look after that stud of yours, too,” Crowley said. “And, don't ask me why, but you get a new turkey feather quill for him, and burn the old one.”

Again, Dean agreed. “You're kind of scaring me.”

“I should. It might keep you safer.” Crowley poured for them again. “I want those two witches out of this house before you get in a family way, Dean.”

They made little small talk after that, just drank tea and watched it rain.

 

* * *

 

 

Jo was able to get Dean the feather he needed. He notched it, and made a small split so ink would flow easily. At Castiel's desk, his hand hovered over the old quill. It didn't look like a turkey feather. Maybe a buzzard. It was very, very large, and black. So black, it shone iridescent blue. Dean carried it to the fire and tossed it in. It smoldered, then caught. The fire turned bright green for a moment before the feather was consumed. Dean figured the old ink was to blame.

He cleaned all of the combs and hair brushes next, and utterly. He burned the hair and soaked everything in hot, soapy water before rinsing them and returning them to Castiel's dresser. He carefully went over the entire bedroom, finding small hairs here and there. He burned those as well. He personally carried the dirty laundry to the washing house, finding only Kara there.

“Hi,” she said shyly as he dumped everything into an empty vat. “There's plenty of hot water. I'm mostly just keeping busy.”

“You haven't been here since yesterday afternoon, have you?” Dean asked, pumping the water in.

“No. I made friends with one of your regular staff, and she let me set up in her cabin,” Kara answered, smiling. “We have the same birthday and everything!”

“That's nice,” Dean said, chuckling.

“When is your birthday?” She asked.

“I can't remember,” Dean admitted. “Sometime in the last part of January, I think.”

“How can you not know your own birthday?” Kara asked, scandalized.

“Well, I haven't celebrated it in nearly fifteen years,” Dean told her. “It's not important. Age is just a number.”

Kara was quiet then, and Dean got to washing laundry. It seemed to take forever, but he finally got everything hung up on the drying rods. He guessed the servants would know to bring them back. No one else but Kevin wore kimonos at Tor-Valen. Besides, his clothes had always gotten back to him before.

He was wiping his hands when a tall, pretty woman came into the washing house. She paused at seeing Dean, and her smile reminded Dean of a snake. “Doing it yourself?” She asked. “How progressive.” She held out her hand for Dean to either shake or bow over. “I'm Maggie.”

“Dean,” he said. “I wouldn't want to touch you with these dishpan hands, ma'am.” It looked like Crowley was right. She'd come in here to pick over the dirty clothes. A chill went down Dean's spine.

Maggie retracted her hand, still smiling. “A gentleman, too,” she practically cooed. “Aren't you an adorable omega?”

“My fiance's mother seems to think so,” Dean replied, reminding this woman that he was an omega with status, highly thought of by his soon to be in-laws. “You're Samandriel's housemaid, aren't you?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “He should be here today at some point. I hope this persistent rain doesn't become snow, and slow him down.” She twirled a hank of her hair, going for a winsome effect and instead coming across to Dean like a pretty, coiffed shark.

“I hope he has an easy trip, too,” Dean said. “Are you comfortable here? Do you need anything?” It was a polite offer. Dean had the idea it might placate her enough to keep things safer for the normal household.

“You're a dear for asking,” she said with an oily smile. “I guess that's the omega in you, wanting to be helpful.”

Dean tried to smile, and failed. “I'm not really sure,” he said honestly. “That would be like asking a color blind person what they see when you hold up a red shirt.”

Maggie laughed. “Well, Don and I don't need anything, unless you're on the market to keep us warm at night, handsome.”

Dean licked his lips to keep from immediately shouting the house down with the insult of her suggestion. “I'm exclusively taken,” he told her. For emphasis, he pulled at his neckline to show her the reddened, healing bite Castiel had given him. “Even if I was interested, I couldn't.”

“Am I not pretty enough?” She asked, contorting her body into a playful pose more suited to a child than an adult, and pushing out her full lips for a pout.

“You're beautiful,” Dean admitted. “But, I'm loyal to Castiel.”

“Oh. One of _those_.” Maggie Stark straightened up with a sigh. “I'm glad I have a permissive employer. He doesn't care what Don and I get up to, as long as his needs are met.” Maggie then _smirked_.

Dean had a sudden and uncomfortable realization. Maggie and Don joined Castiel's brother in bed. A lot.

“Well, nice to meet you, Dean,” Maggie said, turning for the door. She hadn't once acknowledged Kara, or even looked in her direction, which told Dean quite a bit.

“You too, Maggie,” he said just before she sauntered out.

The door shut. Dean let out a long breath as Kara made a growling sound. “Oh. My. God.” Kara said flatly. “That woman is dangerous. You be careful, Dean. Don't be a typical Aquarius and rush headlong into any traps she's going to put up.”

“What?” Dean had no idea what she meant, just none.

“Never mind. Just watch yourself. That woman is a predator.” Kara went back to washing, then, her shoulders and back tight with displeasure.

Dean went back to the house, seeking Crowley immediately. He found him in his room, working on creating new clothing. He shut the door, and locked it. “I met Maggie,” he said. “I'd taken the pile of dirty clothes Cas and I generated last week, and had just finished washing them in the laundry house when she came in.”

Crowley's lips pressed together briefly as he used a wicked looking, circular blade to cut some fabric. “She was hoping to get your clothes, and there you were, clothes already clean. That had to piss her off.”

“She offered her hand to me, and I begged off by saying my hands weren't suitable to touch hers,” Dean said. “Was that right?”

“That was perfect,” Crowley assured him. “Don't make physical contact with the bitch. There's all sorts of things she can do to you by touching your skin. What else?”

“She made it a point to let me know she and her husband are in a threesome with Cas' brother. Also, propositioned me, and pointed out my omega status twice,” Dean reported.

Crowley ground his teeth together, beginning to perfectly (but violently) stitch a garment. “She's set her sights on you,” he said. “Not to be indelicate, Dean, but you are very lovely, and she'd no doubt enjoy the idea she'd taken an alpha male's mate right out from under him. Also, if she managed to get you to fuck her, the child would come out a beta, almost ninety percent sure. Betas are more valuable than any other child, as you must know. Her husband, being an alpha, can't automatically help her crank out a beta. Chances are, any child she had by him would be an omega.”

Dean sat down and watched Crowley a few minutes, thinking. “What about Cas' parents?” He asked. “They're both alphas, and they had alpha children.”

“Naomi and Zachariah Novak aren't typical alphas,” Crowley said in a strange tone. “Leave them out of that equation.”

“Okay.” Dean wouldn't forget, though, and he'd be watching to figure out how the Novaks were different. “What are you making, Crowley?”

“I'm making a gift for Naomi,” Crowley said in a more normal, calmer tone. “Come over here and I'll show you.”

As Dean got closer, he saw it was long, fancy gown. Made of jewel blue satin the exact shade of Naomi's eyes, it would compliment her greatly. And, it was complicated. There were pins and folds all over the place. “Wow,” he said.

“Do you know how to make lace?” Crowley asked.

“No. Can you show me?” Dean liked textiles a great deal.

“Yes.” Crowley got a large, round thing from under a pile of fabric, showing it to him. “This is a tatting pillow,” he said. “See the flat bottom?” He placed it on his crowded bed, getting out a pin cushion and an armload of thread bobbins. “I can do this practically in my sleep, but it might take you a little while to get the hang of it.” He got a piece of stiff paper, and began dotting it with a pencil, seemingly at random.

Dean watched him pin the paper to the tatting pillow, then put more pins in where he'd made dots. Crowley then tied all the bobbin threads together, and placed them on the upper outside of the pins. “Watch me carefully,” he said. “I'll go slowly, and let you take over after I do the first inch. This is called drop-lace, because once the first part is finished we have to add more, going in a different direction.”

It was fascinating to watch. Crowley wove thread in and out of the pins, using the paper as his guide. In a few minutes there was obvious lace, and beautiful, too. Dean made sure to keep track of the order he used the bobbins, and when Crowley stepped back, he was able to quickly pick up the work.

“Very good,” Crowley murmured. “You're a natural. Lace tatting isn't for everyone.”

Dean only concentrated on the lace. When he got to the end, he picked up the finished piece and moved it up so he could keep going.

“Oh, excellent,” Crowley praised. “You keep at that, darling. I'm going to need quite a bit for this gown.”

Dean liked this, making the pretty lace from nothing more than over and under weaving of silk thread. He worked with Crowley for three hours. In that amount of time Crowley finished the bulk of the gown. He took the lace, and pinned it to a cork board on the wall. Then, he showed Dean how to add to it in order to make it the drop-lace, and they worked on that together. They were so good at it that when they met in the middle, it only took Crowley three threads to bind it.

“If you weren't destined to be Castiel's mate, Dean, I'd have you for an apprentice,” Crowley said, stepping back to admire what they'd done. “You are very, very quick to learn textile art.”

“Why can't I be both?” Dean asked. “I like this sort of stuff, and I have hours a day that I'm free.”

“Well, you just come to me when you want to learn new things,” Crowley said. “Would you like to embroider something on Naomi's gown? Women tend to like a bit of embellishment.”

“What do you think she'd like?” Dean asked, eying the gorgeous yards of blue satin.

“It's a winter gown, so how about snowflakes?” Crowley asked.

“Oh, yeah, with the white lace that would be festive,” Dean said, smiling.

Crowley handed him a stick of very soft chalk. “Trace your designs with that, and I'll put a few stitches in after you. That way you can work without worrying about losing your pattern.”

This work took nearly forty-five minutes. Crowley gave him six spools of white silk embroidery thread, and a very fine, sharp needle. “I expect you'll be more comfortable working on this with the frame I gave you,” he said.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Taking a rest now?”

“By no means. I'm making kitchen curtains for Ellen today. If Castiel isn't back tonight, meet me here in my room and we'll keep each other company.” Crowley started gathering up rolls of fabric. “I'm going to go ask Ellen what colors she wants, now. See you later.”

“Bye, Crowley.”

Dean took the gown to Castiel's room, setting it into the frame. He worked two hours, getting seven of the snowflakes done before he heard a cacophony coming from downstairs. He poked his head out for a look and saw Meg actually fighting physically with a man dressed like her. The butler, then, he surmised. Meg had finally grown tired of Caruthers.

Dean took the stairs down, and waded right into the fray. Using his fans for leverage, he threw the St. Addams butler free. The man rolled to a stop close to the front doors. Dean grabbed Meg, and gave her a little shake. “Settle down,” he said. “What's going on?”

“He said I wasn't fit to serve,” Meg panted, sweeping hair out of her face. “This house isn't big enough for two butlers!”

“You're right.” Dean let go of her and helped Caruthers to his feet. “You go and attend Madam and Master Novak,” he ordered. “Stay in the east wing, and let them tell you what to do.”

Caruthers began to protest, and Dean held a closed fan up under his nose. “Don't argue with me,” he warned. “I will boot you right out of here on your ass if you do. First and last notice, Caruthers.”

“Uppity omega,” Caruthers grumbled, but he headed for the east wing access doors.

“Yeah, and don't forget it!” Dean shouted after him.

It wasn't until the clapping started that Dean realized most of the regular house servants had gathered to watch the fight. He tried to act cool about the clapping, but ended up having to wave to them all. “Okay, okay,” he said. “Meg had everything under control. Should have let her draw blood.”

Meg nodded and stiffly headed for the kitchen. Dean went back upstairs.

 

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks go to WarKitt3ns for becoming my beta! She saw stuff I missed and changed what didn't work. She's awesome!

Another night without Castiel. Dean hated that he was pining. He finished every last snowflake on Naomi's dress, and gave it over to Crowley.

“Buttercup, you do excellent work,” Crowley said, running his hands over the largest, most ornate snowflake. “She's going to love this. Let me put the accent piece on it. We'll deliver it together, all right?”

“Okay.” Dean sat in the only chair not covered in sewing detritus.

“S'matter?” Crowley asked as he pinned the white decorative ribbon down one side of the gown. “Missing Castiel?”

“Yeah,” Dean admitted. “The bed's too big.”

Crowley nodded before starting the last bit of sewing. “I miss him a little bit, too,” he admitted. “He makes the house feel more alive, doesn't he? I'm sure he'll be back today. Samandriel is here, holed up in the room beside his parents, sulking, by the way.”

“You've seen him?” Dean asked.

“No. Meg told me.” Crowley threw Dean a leer. “I saw you break up the fight. That was hilarious. Caruthers is a beast, and you tossed him onto his butt like he was made of pasteboard.”

“I just used his own bulk against him,” Dean said. “Still, by the time I got down there, Meg had split his lip and blackened his eyes. She's a scrapper.”

“He's lucky she didn't slide a knife between his ribs,” Crowley commented, chuckling. “Meg is no one to fall foul of.”

“You said it,” Dean replied.

In five minutes, Crowley finished. He put the dress into a wooden box that smelled of patchouli, which had a gold tissue paper lining. He folded more paper over it, closed the box, and tied a quick but ornate bow of silver and white satin. “Let's go deliver,” he said, clapping Dean on the shoulder companionably.

As soon as they entered the east wing, Caruthers intercepted. “Your business?” He asked imperiously.

“We would like to pay a visit to Madam Novak,” Crowley said, pointedly looking at the man's blackened eyes.

Caruthers bowed, and backed up to knock on Naomi's door. “Madam Novak? The tailor, Crowley, and the omega panya of your elder son, are here to visit.”

“Let them in,” Naomi called out clearly.

Crowley and Dean entered her room, finding Zachariah occupied the space with her. Crowley bowed deeply, and presented Naomi the box. “Madam, Dean and I have made a gift for you,” he said.

“Oh, I _love_ presents,” Naomi breathed, taking the carved wooden casket and holding it close to her bosom a moment. “What's the occasion?”

“Your presence,” Crowley said, quirking a smile. “I don't often get called to make women's clothes, which are my favorite to design, and Dean is a wonder with needle and thread. Aside from that, may I be so audacious, you have enviable measurements. That made this gift a pleasure to create.”

“You're a bold little thing,” Naomi said, smiling. She pulled the bow and opened the box. A twitch of her elegant hand moved the tissue paper, and when she drew out the gown, her eyes went wide with shock and pleasure. “Oh, this is _gorgeous_ ,” she exclaimed. “Darling, _look_ at this,” she bade her husband. “I can't believe it!” She ran her hand over the satin, sighing in pleasure. “This is top quality satin. Look at the work!”

Crowley bowed again while Dean grinned. “Give us leave to create a few more for you, madam?” He asked.

“Oh, I would insist!” Naomi held the dress up to herself, and did a purely feminine little twirl of happiness.

“I want to see my wife in scarlet,” Zachariah said, standing. “Hot red for her high blood and passion.” He shot out an arm and pulled Naomi close, easing their bodies together with enviable fluidity. “Make her a red gown next, Crowley,” he ordered, nearly purring. “I'll give you a Friesian horse if you please her like this again.”

“Consider it done,” Crowley said, taking Dean by the arm and pulling him backward toward the door. “Good day.”

Once out in the hall, Crowley bent over to laugh noiselessly. He thumped Dean on the shoulder twice. “Let's make her a red ball gown that will shame any younger flowers she might encounter,” he said. “I want her to shine. Also, I want that horse he promised.”

Dean smiled, and linked his arm with Crowley's. “Want to start now?”

“Yes,” Crowley said, taking them out of the east wing and past the scowling Caruthers. “We'll make her a confection of true delight. I need to consult my patterns, and come up with something that will trump anyone she encounters at her next social gathering.” He grinned up at Dean, looking wicked in his joy. “Maybe something more than forty percent lace? Show off Naomi's incredible curves?”

Dean nodded his assent, but he didn't know why Crowley made note of Naomi's figure again and again. She was a really good looking mature female, yes, but not overtly stunning.

They adjourned to Crowley's room to plan, coming up with a gown made of blood red satin, but deciding to put an overlay of lace over the top of it. Dean sketched a network of spiderwebs, and Crowley translated that into a lace pattern. While Crowley cut and measured, pinned and planned, Dean began the lace.

Dean relaxed into the task, enjoying the in and out of making the lace. He used white, because Crowley assured him they'd have to dye the end result to get the color they wanted. And, he lost himself in the warm, companionable silence of Crowley's room while doing the work. It felt nice, sitting there with another person close by that didn't task the ears or eyes.

“You are brilliant at this,” Crowley said upon checking Dean's progress. “It's a pleasure to teach you things, Dean. I absolutely love the care and finesse of what you do once set to something.” He ran a hand over Dean's finished work, and sighed. “So exceptional, you are.”

“I like textiles,” Dean told him. “I can shear a sheep, card the wool, spin the yarn and knit. Sonny had me clothing the other boys pretty quick. I guess my incentive lay in the fact that being able to make warm clothing showed caring.”

Crowley cupped Dean's chin in one hand, looking into his eyes with sober and gentle consideration. “There are only three honest ways to show how much you love others,” he said. “Food, clothing, and shelter. So far, you have shown you can clothe and feed admirably. I think you could also shelter. But, as for me and my preferred craft, the fact you're so talented with cloth and fiber is enough to make you my favorite person.” He kissed Dean's forehead and stepped back, smiling. “You set your talents to finding me a good alpha,” he ordered. “I need one.”

“Okay.” Dean smiled back, and resumed his work.

They toiled far into the day, getting Naomi's gown half finished. Dean excused himself to visit the outdoor privy, then wandered to the kitchen to see what Ellen might be up to. He found her banishing all her help in a flurry of cross words and high volume shouting. When he sat at her prep table, she looked at him once before sighing, leaning her hip on the cutting table.

“They're all nearly useless,” she complained, drawing a glass of water to gulp down great measures.

“No kitchen talent?” Dean asked.

“Not a bit,” she affirmed. “I hate being crowded, having to explain every move I make.” She straightened up, dumped her glass, and wiped her sweaty forehead. “I sent Kevin off with Jo to bring in some wild game. It's going to be Bounty Day in two days. I need turkeys and deer to present properly to the master's parents.”

“What's Bounty Day?” Dean asked.

“Bless you, it's what people used to call Thanksgiving, when Panomu was called America,” Ellen told him. “It's a holiday that is celebrated by over-eating and sleeping late. You wake up, eat too much, then go back to bed and get up later to eat too much all over again. Granted, only the rich or well off people get to do it without cooking and washing dishes.” Ellen shook her skirts out as if disgusted. “Master Novak never participated. He doesn't eat much at all. But, the servants do. I never get a break. All holidays are celebrated with food.”

“Well, Cas isn't back yet, so you could let me do it and take some time off,” Dean offered. “I'd be glad to, Ellen. It would keep me busy, keep my mind off missing Cas.”

“Really, Dean?” Ellen looked so hopeful.

“Really.” Dean patted her shoulder gently. “Let me get some paper and a quill. I'll write down what you think should be served. I can do this. Take a holiday.”

“Oh, thank you,” Ellen breathed.

Dean went upstairs to get supplies, then stuck his head in Crowley's room to tell him the dress would have to be delayed a few days. He went back and wrote down all Ellen told him was appropriate for the holiday. Then, he told her to go home. He could handle meals while planning for Bounty Day.

 

* * *

 

 

Two days went by quickly. Dean abandoned Castiel's bedroom and slept on a grass mat in front of the kitchen fire. He didn't want Don or Maggie coming in and contaminating everything, or messing around. Jo and Kevin brought back twelve turkeys, and Dean had the idea of cooking them all outside in Ellen's large deep-fryer. That way it wouldn't take as much time. He was glad of having them to help pluck and gut the birds.

He found recipe books in his old room, and discovered that pie making was actually fun. He made pumpkin and apple, reserving one entire apple pie for Bill. Kevin set the tables, and carried out things as Dean finished making them. Mashed sweet potatoes, baked potatoes, wild rice and hot rolls went out first.

“Everyone's eyeballing the food,” Kevin announced, slightly out of breath. “I mean everyone, too. The elder Novaks are eating with us again. I think we have over a hundred people altogether, Dean.”

“I've got six of the turkeys finished, and six more coming out in ten minutes, so let them all get started,” Dean said. His arms were tired from mashing potatoes. He was sweaty, and sticky, and wanted a bath. He absolutely didn't want to eat a bite of what he'd cooked. The very idea made him ill. “Take those birds out to them, and come back. Help me get the venison roasts on platters.”

Kevin carried all the birds out, returning in time to get the next six. As the household happily feasted, Dean and Kevin got the deer meat out to serve. Five loaves of hot bread went out next, with butter dishes.

“Damn, this is work,” Kevin said, slumping into a chair by the cutting table. “What goes out next?”

“Cranberry sauce,” Dean said, pausing to point.

“What's that?” Kevin began loading a tray with the small crocks, though.

“Something I found in a recipe book,” Dean answered tiredly. “Used to be a traditional thing when this was called Thanksgiving. Gives me the shivers to look at it, and I made it.”

Kevin went out with his new load, and came back. “Naomi loves it,” he stage whispered. “Zachariah, too.”

“Then I guess it was worth it,” Dean said, smiling. “You go out there and let her feed you, Kevin. She likes it, and you need the experience.”

“Don't you need me in here with you?” Kevin asked.

“I'm mostly done. Just waiting to serve them the pies. I need to wash up a little bit, and change clothes.” Dean took his apron off and threw it over a sink. “Go on, now. Learn proper eating from the matriarch. Take a cushion.”

“Okay, Dean,” Kevin agreed quietly.

Dean went upstairs on dragging feet. He opened the door to find Castiel lying across the bed, face down and sound asleep. His heart did a little shiver-stammer at seeing him for the first time in a week. Gently, he shut the door. He tip-toed past the bed and got a change of clothes from the bureau. Finished, he carefully sat down on the corner of the bed simply to look at his intended.

Cas was _dirty_. His clothes were ripped in several places. His fine lawn shirt had two large holes in the back. He had caked filth under his ragged fingernails. In and out, Castiel breathed deeply and evenly, so hard asleep that Dean knew all the sneaking around hadn't been necessary. The master of the house wasn't waking up anytime soon.

Dean washed his face and hands in the porcelain sanitation bowl, and dried off. He pulled the bed curtains closed to conceal Castiel from prying eyes in case someone entered the room. Regretting having to leave, he quitted the room and shut the door soundlessly. And, once back in the kitchen, he discovered he felt like crying. He had no idea why.

Jo came in, and he straightened up. “This is a really good meal, Dean,” she praised. “Mom is enjoying herself so much. Thank you for doing all this so she could eat with our family and friends for once. It means a lot.”

Dean forced a smile while loading a tray down with pies. “You can thank me by taking these out,” he said. “Tell your dad to stop by the kitchen on his way home, okay?”

“Okay,” she agreed, grinning. “You made him his own pie, didn't you?”

“I sure did, and it's special,” Dean replied. “I spiced it just right.”

Dean sat down in the warm, quiet kitchen. He'd have a lot of dishes to do soon, and they'd keep him in here for hours. That was okay, though. Castiel would probably sleep a long time.

Why was his master so dirty and ragged? It looked like he'd been waylaid. This had _ **not**_ been a simple trip to town to visit lawyers. Castiel had lied to him.

Oh. That was why he wanted to cry.

Dean made himself busy getting sinks ready with hot soapy water. Housemaids began bringing in dirty plates, exchanging them for dessert plates. Dean appropriated two of the girls to help him wash. Screw being noble.

Two hours went by quickly. Dean grabbed Meg when she came in, asking her to have a bath drawn in Castiel's room. But, he didn't tell her the master had returned. She promised to get Wilkes and Farraday to do it, complimented him on the juicy turkey, and headed for the outdoors.

In another hour the kitchen was clean, fully restored to rights. Dean gladly left it. He returned to the bedroom to find Wilkes pouring the last pail of hot water into the enormous tub. Again, he got a compliment on the turkey. Apparently, no one had ever thought to deep fry them before.

Dean shut the door and leaned on it. God, he was tired. He shifted forward in a burst of determination, and opened the bed curtains. Castiel hadn't moved an inch. Dean rolled him over onto his back slowly to have a look at him. Oh, he was so filthy.

Dean took off Castiel's ripped shirt, and threw it on the fire. He burned his cravat, too, as it had blood all over it. He couldn't see any real injuries, though, just scratches that looked like briars had scraped over him. He knelt, took off Castiel's soiled boots, and stood them in a corner. Off went the smelly socks. Those got tossed into the fire as well. The trousers were ruined, so he added that to the smoldering pile.

Looking down at Castiel's naked, bruised body, Dean had to wonder what the hell had happened. He took his time looking at that amazing cock. Even soft, it was enormous. Attractive, too.

Dean picked Castiel up and carried him to the tub. It took some work to get them both in it safely. He propped Castiel against himself, and just lay there to enjoy the heat.

Eventually, he had to get to work, though. Dean braced Castiel against the side of the tub and carefully, gently, washed him. He had to use a nail brush under those dirty fingernails. It took twenty minutes to clean his hair properly; it was so disgustingly oily that soap wouldn't make suds in it until the third wash.

Dean took Castiel out of the tub, putting him in the chair closest to the fireplace with a towel draped over his lap. He dried them both off, and got the little jar of ointment Crowley had used on his brand. The liniment smelled no better than he remembered. He used it on all of Castiel's small injuries.

He dressed his master in soft cotton trousers and put him in the bed, once again drawing the curtains closed. He rang the bell for the water to be carried out, and waited, putting a fresh set of clothes on quickly.

This time it was Peterson and Bains. They looked at the filthy water, and stared at Dean. “Is cooking really that much of a dirty activity?” Bains asked.

“I washed out my clothes, too,” Dean lied. “No sense making extra work for everyone. Thanks for the help.”

“Oh, we don't mind.” Peterson smiled. “It helps us to burn off that amazing grub you made for us.”

Dean managed a smile. “Hey, where do you guys take the dirty bathwater?” If Maggie had wanted Dean or Castiel's soiled clothes, she'd likely want the bathwater as well.

“We dump it in the privy to keep the smell down,” Peterson said. “The extra water just filters out into the dirt, eventually. It's nearly time to move the privy, actually.”

Dean nodded, and went to sit by the fire. They finished in twenty minutes. Dean wiped out the tub, and locked the bedroom door.

Castiel hadn't moved. If not for the regular, deep breathing, Dean would have believed him dead. Dean snuffed the candles and lamps, and got in with him. His alpha really made a lot of heat. He pressed close and let his weary eyes shut. In moments, he slept.

 

* * *

 

 

Dean awakened to the smell of pine shaving soap. He pushed the curtains back and discovered Castiel standing at his wash bowl, a razor going over his week-old beard.

“I'm quite certain I didn't get into bed clean,” Castiel said, not turning around.

“I washed you,” Dean admitted.

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel said quietly. He didn't offer an explanation, and it wasn't Dean's place to ask.

Dean got out of bed. “Let me catch you up on a few things,” he said, walking to the dresser with a knot of hurt and anger in his throat. "The new servants are causing chaos. Caruthers, St. Addams butler, isn't getting along with Meg at all. They had a fist fight at the bottom of the stairs. I broke it up, and put him to taking care of your parents."

Dean chose black silk pants and a sea green kimono that he'd never worn before, and threw them onto the bed. "I spent a little time with your mother. Your father and Bill have been spear fishing Asian carp in the lake. Samandriel is here, but I haven't seen him yet. His servants, the Starks, are definitely up to no good. As I was washing our dirty clothes, Maggie came into the laundry house. Crowley thinks she wanted our clothing for magical reasons. He's been sneaking into their rooms when they leave in order to look for evidence of evil-doing."

Dean paused to see if Castiel had any comments, but Castiel still wasn't facing his direction, and remained silent. "Crowley and I have been busy," Dean continued. "I've been spending some time with him, helping him to make clothing for your mother. Your father has promised Crowley a Friesian horse if Naomi likes the red dress he commissioned for her.” Dean felt his eyes narrowing at Castiel's continued silence.

He wanted to shake Castiel up.

“Also, Maggie Stark propositioned me,” he said.

Castiel's hand slipped, and he cursed. Quickly, he grabbed a cloth and held it to his face, turning. “She did what?” He asked, his voice low and terrible.

“Apparently, she and Don keep your brother warm at night a lot,” Dean said. “She wanted _me_ in their knot of debauchery.”

Castiel stared at Dean.

Dean spread his hands. “I swear I'm not lying.” He walked over and pulled Castiel's hand away from his face. He hadn't cut himself badly, but it bled freely. “We just celebrated Bounty Day, so there are plenty of leftovers if you feel like an unconventional breakfast, Castiel.”

Castiel's eyelids half lowered at hearing his full name instead of the familiar, friendly nickname Dean had dubbed him. He looked Dean dead in the eyes for the first time. “Dean...”

Dean backed up, and got him a strip of styptic paper. He put it on for him, then, and again got out of Castiel's space. “You'd probably like some coffee this morning, anyway,” Dean said, making quick work of getting dressed.

Castiel sighed, and began shaving again.

Well. That was that.

Dean left him. He burned with frustrated hurt. It seared his guts and made him march more than walk. He went to the kitchen and began tossing pots and pans around in an attempt to find the percolator. He unearthed the thing and put ground coffee into the top, slammed it down on the stove, and poured boiling water from the fireplace kettle. Then, he had to clean up the mess he'd made, which only heightened his bad mood.

Dean made a tray of leftover turkey and mashed sweet potatoes. He left the meat cold, but heated up gravy and poured it over the top. He thunked down a slice of bread, poured a large mug of coffee, then carried the tray back upstairs.

Castiel, fully dressed as if about to spend a day outside, eyed him askance as he put the tray on the desk. “What will you be doing today, Dean?” He asked softly.

Dean wanted to slap him. He wasn't allowed to ask that question in return. He wasn't supposed to even inquire as to where Castiel had been, or with whom, and he _loathed_ it. “I'm going to help Crowley finish your mother's red gown,” he said stiffly.

“You are incredibly upset with me,” Castiel said.

“I'm glad you came home,” Dean replied. “The house isn't the same when you aren't here.”

Castiel frowned slightly, and took a sip of his coffee. His eyes fell upon his new quill, and he went motionless.

“Crowley told me to burn your old one,” Dean informed. “All your hairbrushes and combs are to be cleaned immediately after you use them, and your dirty clothes will be washed by me, only.”

Castiel slowly nodded. “He's protecting me from sympathetic magic,” he said. “And, so are you.”

“Don't underestimate the Starks,” Dean advised. “Lock your dirty tray in this room when you leave. Throw that cloth with your blood on it into the fire. Personally carry your water and whiskers outside, and dump them into the privy. Or, I will.”

Castiel stared at Dean for a long moment. “If they're causing this much fear, they can't stay,” he vowed. “My brother can do without his personal bed warmers.”

“That's up to you. Just... Just be careful,” Dean said.

“I will, Dean,” Castiel vowed, his eyes losing their hard edge.

“All right. Well. I'll catch up with you later,” Dean said. “Right now I've got to help Crowley get himself a fancy horse.”

“Very well,” Castiel replied, and slowly turned toward his tray of food.

Dean left, fuming. He went to Crowley's room, entering when the tailor shouted that the door wasn't locked. He slammed the door, and Crowley jerked. “He came back during supper last night,” he announced. “Scratched up, filthy, his clothes ripped. He didn't wake up through a stripping and a bathing, not even when I put him in bed. And, he won't volunteer to say where he's been.”

Crowley looked up at the ceiling, his eyes moving back and forth as he thought. “Did you happen to notice if he'd packed a valise? Was there one easily in sight?”

“No, there wasn't,” Dean said after thinking about it. “In fact, I think he was wearing the same clothes as the day he left. Do you think he went to his club?”

“I don't know.” Crowley ran a hand through his short hair. “I wouldn't sulk about it too long, Dean. He'll probably tell you, eventually. If you behave badly he'll have no incentive to speak.”

“Yeah.” Dean went over to Crowley's lace board, picking up where he'd left off. “It just... I thought we were closer than this,” he complained as he wove thread. “He told me he was going to town to deal with legal business, and that was a lie. I _hate_ being lied to.”

“No one likes it,” Crowley countered. “But, he did specifically ask me to stay close to you while he was gone. He cares. Try not to wallow.”

“Okay, Crowley,” Dean muttered. He focused on his work, then, putting all thoughts of the maddening Castiel out of his head.

For hours, he and Crowley toiled over the gown. Dean finished the lace. Crowley began to hand dye it in a small vat by the fireplace. Dean watched him, highly interested. “What makes black dye?”

“Black is difficult,” Crowley told him. “This is a very, very dark red that only looks black. If Naomi keeps the gown and wears it fairly often, the lace will begin to fade. She'll have to send it back to me for a darkening. Sometimes the faded dye will make an interesting enough effect that the owner of the garment will choose to let it remain as-is. I really wanted the charcoal color over this dress, but I didn't have the right pigment.”

“Huh.” Dean handed him a stirring stick. “If you wanted this dye to look red, would you just add water?”

“Usually, but this dye is different. Ordinary red is usually achieved with madder root or a similar plant.” Crowley checked the timepiece on the mantel. “Let's keep that at a hard simmer for an hour, then pull it out. In the meantime, you need a dose of heat suppressant. Castiel's return is going to kick you into a mating drive.”

So, Dean soon had a hot cup of terrible tasting stuff. He drank it all, washing his cup out with water from the fireplace kettle.

“Go lie down,” Crowley ordered. “Just shove things out of your way.” He pointed to his bed, which had fabric bolts and tools lying all over it. “You're still in a dudgeon, shedding wrath all over the place. Pushing down the feelings won't make them go away. Get some sleep.”

Grumbling, Dean shoved a space clear of crap, and curled up. He fell asleep, awakening some unknown time later to the sound of Castiel.

“Is he all right?”

“He's quite rightly smarting from your mysterious disappearance,” Crowley answered quietly. “It's not my place to correct you, but Dean deserves better from you.”

“Yes, I know,” Castiel said.

“He and Meg ran this house while you were gone,” Crowley said after a moment of silence. “We are very upset over the presence of Don and Maggie Stark.”

“I will kill them if I see one reason to do so,” Castiel replied. “I don't kill people for witchery, or _you'd_ be dead.”

“Got my measure already, do you?”

“As much as you have mine, I think,” Castiel said. “Thank you for instructing Dean on how to handle my personal effects.”

“That quill...” Crowley said softly. “That was pure arrogance. You can't take such chances.”

“I don't suppose I will anymore,” Castiel said. “Will you look after Dean a few more hours? I have to ride to the storehouse and collect honey for my mother.”

“I am always happy to spend time with Dean,” Crowley told him. “I'd 'mother-hen' him every moment if I could. He needs spoiling, if you ask me. He's so accustomed to being used by people that he has no idea of anything different.”

Castiel didn't say anything else. Dean heard the door shut quietly. Crowley covered him with a thick blanket, and began building up the fire, humming lowly.

Crowley knew something about Castiel that Dean didn't. And, Castiel all but said Crowley was a witch.

Dean eventually fell back to sleep. He woke up feeling slightly cramped, and found some bolts of fabric had fallen on him. He worked his way out from under the mess and sat up, glaring at Crowley. “How do you sleep at night?” He asked. “I was about to be smothered by tulle.”

“I don't actually sleep much,” Crowley told him. “The lace is dry. Come have a look.”

Dean forced his sleepy muscles to move. He dropped out of the bed and walked over. “Oh,” he said. “It looks much better black.” All the spiderweb patterns were stark, with the sort of sheen only silk can achieve.

“It does,” Crowley agreed. “Let me sew it onto the gown. We can take our latest triumph to Naomi. I want that horse.”

“What's so special about a Friesian?” Dean asked, watching Crowley swiftly and expertly affix the lace overlay to the gown.

“They're beautiful, strong, and expensive as fuck,” Crowley said, startling Dean into a laugh. “Your alpha owns five of them. His favorite is the one he rode when accompanying you to visit the omega house you came from.”

Dean had thought to himself during that ride that Castiel had an amazing horse. He didn't know anything about horses at all, but that one impressed him.

“Does he breed these horses?” Dean asked.

“I don't know,” Crowley said. “I never thought about it. Actually, Dean, he might. A very concerned group of people saved every horse breed they could during the apocalyptic days, but only rich people can keep up their good work. You should visit Bobby, and ask him.”

“I might do that.”

Crowley finished in ten minutes, and again he packed their offering to Naomi in tissue paper, wooden box and ribbon. They went downstairs and accessed the east wing of the manor, finding Caruthers standing in the hallway looking disdainful and put-upon.

The butler gave them a hard look before announcing them. Dean wanted to stick his tongue out at the man, but refrained.

Dean had to smile at the sight that greeted them. Naomi had her feet in Zachariah's lap, getting her toenails painted a deep red. It would match the dress, actually. But, it was such a cute thing to stumble in on. Apparently, red turned Zachariah on, for he smelled of alpha interest. Naomi, too.

Again Dean had to wonder about alpha scent. Castiel had been the first one he'd ever encountered that didn't stink, and his parents were also inoffensive in scent.

Crowley put the box down beside of Naomi. “Your dress, madam,” he said. “Dean helped make this one, too. If not for him you'd be getting this in the mail instead of in person.”

Zachariah capped the paint, smiling as Naomi eagerly attacked the ribbon. “This is the coveted red dress?”

“It is, sir,” Crowley said, still smiling. “I think you'll both be pleased.”

Naomi gasped as she drew out the gown. “Oh, Crowley, Dean!”

Zachariah whistled. “Good work, boys. That's gorgeous. I can't wait to see her wearing it. She'll blow a stuffy tea party all to hell.”

“The lace!” Naomi rolled off the bed and danced with the dress. “And, I love spiderweb patterns!”

Crowley slid a wink toward Dean.

“I promised you a horse.” Zachariah wrote something down on a piece of paper, signed it, and used a wax sealer and his ring to make something official. “Castiel will take you to the man we get our horses from. It's going to be a three day trip, so you'll have to plan accordingly.”

Crowley bowed. “Thank you, Master Novak.”

“It's worth it to see my wife happy,” he said cheerfully.

Dean and Crowley left quickly, as the scents in the room promised that the two alphas were about to celebrate with each other's bodies. Crowley grinned at Dean once they were on the top landing. “Even vouched me a stallion,” he said. “Getting linked with the Novak family has been exceptionally lucrative, so far.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “I can say that, too.”

Crowley sobered a little. “Are you all right, Dean?”

“I'm being a child,” Dean said. “I'll straighten up, I swear.”

“It's not childish to want to know where your mate is,” Crowley said. “You come visit me if you need someone to talk to, all right? I'm just going for a nap.”

“Thanks,” Dean said. “I think I'll hide in Castiel's bedroom for awhile. It gets tiresome being so productive.”

Crowley smiled and patted his arm.

Dean went to unlock the bedroom door only to find it already open. He pushed, and the barrier swung away to reveal a man he didn't know, lounging upon Castiel's bed with a book out and Castiel's clothing strewn all over the place. He gaped at the man, and the look he received in turn was two parts boredom and one part irritation. “Were you born in a barn, omega? Shut the damned door.”

Dean came in, but he didn't shut the door. “Who are you?”

“Samandriel Novak, who are you?” Came the swift reply.

“I'm your brother's bonded,” Dean told him. “Why have you thrown his clothing all over the place?”

“I wanted a dark colored cravat,” Samandriel explained, holding up a wine colored cravat. “You're what my brother picked, really? Kind of tall, aren't you? A bit stout for a breeder.” The young man sniffed. “I prefer the little ones.”

Dean didn't know what to say. The alpha that stared up at him from the bed wasn't very big, despite what type omega he preferred to bed. He was whipcord thin, and looked about twenty years old. He had eyes close to Castiel's intense blue, but not quite. He was handsome, but not incredibly so. And, he also didn't stink to Dean.

“Are you just going to stare at me?” Samandriel asked.

“He's probably wondering why you've wrecked my bedroom,” Castiel said from behind Dean suddenly. “You will pick up everything you dropped, Dre. Now.”

Samandriel rolled his eyes and got up. He started grabbing things, shoving them haphazardly into a drawer. “Good to see you too, Castiel.”

“How did you get in here?” Castiel asked, entering.

“I picked the lock,” Samandriel said, unashamed. “I figured if I was under house arrest for the rest of my life I deserved to enter every room.”

“You figured wrongly,” Castiel told him. “If I ever find you in here again, or a sign that you have been in here, I will whip you with a riding crop.”

“I see getting laid regularly hasn't improved your temper,” the young man said. He shoved the drawer shut, uncaring there were clothes dangling out of it. “Why go to all the trouble of buying an omega and not keep him in your room? Jesus.”

“Do not blaspheme, and do not denigrate Dean,” Castiel thundered, making Samandriel cringe away. “My relationships are not your business, and my clothing doesn't belong to you, either.” He snatched the wine colored cravat from Samandriel's hand. “You will learn some manners here, either by surrender or force. I don't care which.”

“God, you're such a fucking bully!” Samandriel shouted back, but not as loudly and certainly with not as much impressive ire. “You haven't seen me in five years, and two minutes into the reunion you revert back to a damned caveman!”

All the anger smells were starting to get to Dean. It didn't matter that he wasn't the focus or cause. He backed up and to one side, fighting the urge to sink to his knees.

“You _bring out_ the caveman in me,” Castiel growled. “The world owes you nothing, Dre, yet you persist in believing it does. You _reek_ of whiskey, and those clothes are at least two days on your body. What have you been doing, hiding in your room and drinking away your cares?”

“What's it to you?” Samandriel asked, throwing his arms wide. “Oh, I forgot you're the perfect son, the favorite! You don't know anything about me, or what's on my mind.” He drew his arms in only so he could point at Dean. “You even got an omega, probably because your retarded sex drive finally got to be too much! I was never allowed to buy one, but you were encouraged to do so all the time!”

Dean couldn't take it anymore. He backed completely out of the room and fled for Crowley's. The shouting was getting louder even as he swiftly walked away. Crowley's door was already open, the man himself leaning out to discern what the yelling could be.

“It's Samandriel,” Dean said, darting inside. “He let himself into Cas' room.”

“Well, _that_ can't continue, not with his treacherous servants so eager to get their hands on the master of the house's clothing,” Crowley muttered. He shut the door. “You need a bracing cup of tea. How about Ceylon?”

“Whatever you have is fine.” Dean's hands were shaking. He picked a chair and sat down on them to make them quit. “Shit, I hate alpha anger.”

“It's not the best, is it?” Crowley commiserated.

A loud thumping and banging began down the hall, and Samandriel's shouting increased. Then, everything went quiet. Very quiet. Dean heard running footsteps. They went down the staircase and out the front door. Castiel's powerful stride and hard sole boots began to approach Crowley's room.

Castiel knocked, and opened the door. “Dean, are you all right?”

“Yes, Cas,” Dean said quietly, looking at the floor.

“ _No, he's not_ ,” Crowley snapped, surprising Dean. “He's having a shitty day, and your brother made it worse. Merely inquiring over his state isn't helping anything. Come in and have tea with us. Drink a cup before you ask another stupid question.”

Castiel shut the door rather loudly, and stalked over to Crowley. He glared at him a moment before dropping into the chair beside of Dean's. Dean immediately slid out and sat down on the floor at Castiel's feet, silently asking for what he needed. He closed his eyes at the wonderful feeling of Castiel's long fingers sliding through his hair.

“My apologies, Dean,” Castiel said gently. “I'm afraid you're going to be seeing the clash between myself and my brother fairly often. He was brought here so that I could correct his wanton behavior, and I agreed to do this for my parents because Samandriel is on a fast track to Hell.”

Castiel accepted a cup of tea from Crowley, and took a sip. He offered that to Dean immediately.

Dean had missed this. He'd missed it so much that tears sprang to his eyes.

“Dean, it's not about you,” Castiel said, mistaking his emotion for upset due to his brother. “Samandriel hates everyone, even himself. Don't take him to heart.”

“I won't, Cas,” Dean whispered.

They were all quiet while imbibing the good, black tea. When finished, Castiel put the empty cup and saucer on a stack of books. “Crowley, this is chaos,” he said. “You need a bigger room. Move to the one down from Dean and myself. It's much larger.”

“Are you sure you want a wise-ass tailor so close to you?” Crowley asked.

“No, especially not one that corrects me so freely,” Castiel said. “But, Dean likes you, and you have good sense. I want you near him.”

“I'm glad to trade up,” Crowley said easily.

Castiel got to his feet. “Come with me, Dean,” he said.

Dean followed Castiel back to his bedroom.

“Put on some warmer clothing,” Castiel ordered. “I'm taking you outside of this house. We need to talk freely, and that can't be done inside the manor.”

Dean chose to put a pair of trousers on over the silk ones he already wore. He got one of the seafaring shirts, and laced it tightly. When Castiel handed him one of his own coats, Dean met his eyes. The warm, split-tail, long cashmere coat was heavy, expensive, and positively emanated Castiel's incredible scent.

“My boots should fit you,” Castiel said softly.

Dean got some socks and chose a pair of hard, weather beaten boots that went to the knees. They felt odd, but not too tight. He stood and put the coat on, feeling subdued. But, the smell of Castiel soothed him. He turned and put his nose against the soft fabric, inhaling. He didn't care to be seen doing it.

Castiel handed him his fans. Dean hooked them onto the coat's belt. Castiel then opened a drawer, taking out a box of matches and a taper candle made of beeswax. Those went into one of his pockets. He got his cloak, put it on, and led Dean out and down.

They stopped in the kitchen. Castiel measured out some cashews into a bag and stowed them with the matches. He got a single wine glass and a linen napkin. Ellen watched them without saying anything, perhaps sensing their moods as private and unapproachable, or perhaps she'd heard the fight Castiel had with his brother.

Castiel made a stop in the cellar and got a very large bottle of the estate wine. He then hooked his arm through Dean's and began walking toward the lake.

Falling snow always made Dean feel peaceful. Large, fluffy flakes lazily drifted down upon them as they walked, and the ground soon began to look white in low spots. He felt glad for Castiel's coat and boots. Too, he felt glad Cas wasn't talking yet. Walking seemed so much more sedate when not chattering.

Eventually, Castiel took Dean to the little boat house. He got a key ring with a single key upon it and opened the door. After, he handed the key to Dean. It was a demonstration of his ownership of the charmingly beaten little cabin. Dean smiled, and put the key in his pocket.

Inside, wicker furniture greeted Dean. A large, sturdy table sat in the center of the room. Aside from a fireplace, a stack of wood, and the mantel, nothing else cluttered the place. It had a shuttered window, though. The shutters were held down by a long bar of wood.

Castiel put the wine and glass down on the table. He got the candle out and lit it, then shut the door. Dean watched him start a fire. Kindling and wood already lay inside the rack between the andirons. In very little time the fire caught, and a blaze of warmth knocked the chill out of the room. Dean could take his coat off now. He laid it across the wicker couch for padding, and sat down.

His alpha opened the wine and poured. He set the cashews out. “I can't tell you where I was,” he said. “I wouldn't share that with anyone, Dean. My safety could be compromised. I don't like keeping secrets, I really don't, but this one isn't negotiable.” He sat beside of Dean, joining him in staring at the fire. “And, every six months, I'm going to disappear for a week. It can't be prevented.”

“So, you're going to go missing in May,” Dean said.

“Yes. The last week.” Castiel took a sip of wine, then another, the second of which he offered to Dean. Dean got on the floor to make it easier for them both, because he was slightly taller than Cas.

“I don't have to like it, do I?” Dean asked.

“No. You can hate it all you want to. I certainly do.” Castiel put a cashew between Dean's lips. “What I do isn't enjoyable. And, if it helps, I'm completely alone the entire time.”

“You're not a twice-a-year werewolf or something, are you?” Dean asked, slightly joking.

Castiel smiled. “No. Thankfully, no. I'm pleased to report there are no werewolves at Tor-Valen. We have a few witches, but no werewolves.”

“Wait. Those actually exist?” Dean asked.

“Yes.” Castiel nodded at him. “My family and I eradicated them here, though. They were bad for humans and livestock.”

Dean drank three more times from Castiel's mouth before all that could sink in. “Are you in any danger?”

“Not truly. I go someplace very secluded. I wish I could tell you, but...”

“It's better I don't know,” Dean finished for him.

“Yes. I _am_ sorry.”

“Well, I can't pretend it's okay, but I can quit pouting about it,” Dean relented. “It helps to know you have a schedule for whatever it is.”

“I thought it might relieve you to know it's timed specifically, that I'm not going to pull a disappearing act very often,” Castiel said. “I didn't think you were pouting, either. Crowley said you deserved better from me, and he was right. He's always right.”

Dean grinned as he gazed at the fire. “I do like him,” he said.

“I do, too,” Castiel grumbled. “He's a charismatic, cultured little beast. I'm not entirely sure he's really an omega. He acts like a masochistic beta.” He fed Dean a few more cashews. “I've never mentioned to you how I met him.”

“Right,” Dean agreed.

“Oh, it's a good story,” Castiel said, chuckling. “I was overseeing repairs to the cathedral in town. It was built a long, long time ago, and withstood the wars that took humanity back to humble simplicity. None of the other landed alphas in town wanted to take on the financial drain, so I was alone with my carpenters and stonemasons.”

Castiel took a sip of wine, and gave it to Dean. “There's a population of Christians in the poorer part of the settlement. They wanted the cathedral rebuilt for a place to worship, and I liked the idea that I could give them that. A large building can shelter the very poor people in winter, you know. It _should_ be a home.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed.

“While cleaning up debris I discovered a wine cellar under the cathedral. I hauled the vintage out crate by crate, thinking it must be spoiled. Wine doesn't keep forever. It turns into vinegar.”

“Oh. Ew,” Dean said. “But the bottles would be valuable. Glass.”

“Yes.” Castiel smiled. “Imagine my surprise when I cracked one open to find the most divine taste. It hadn't spoiled. I sold it all to Mrs. Prince as a way to fund the repairs. Recoup some of my loss.”

“Sensible,” Dean commented. He liked the cadence of Castiel's voice, and the coziness of having a story told to him in this solitary little cabin. “Didn't you keep any of it?”

“No. But, it inspired me to go into wine making at Tor-Valen,” Castiel informed. “I found the recipe for that wonderful wine while moving it out, and I make it here, now. You're getting it fed to you.”

“Oh.” Dean leaned and asked for another drink of it. Castiel smiled and obliged him.

“Now for Crowley,” Castiel said, smiling again. “The cathedral is very close to his old shop. He hated the noise we all created while restoring it. Every day he made it a _point_ to stand on the street and heckle us. Most of my workers were so amazed that the lowly omega tailor had a smart mouth. They couldn't match his insults, either. I mean, he was _creative_.”

Castiel paused to chuckle, shaking his head. “I think he believed he could drive us away with his vitriolic invective. Under ordinary circumstances he might have succeeded. I lost five workers by the end of that first week.”

“Wow,” Dean said, starting to smile.

“Yes. Like I said, _creative_.” Castiel gave him more cashews. “I went back to Madam Prince, and bought five of the bottles I'd only just sold to her. Of course, the price had gone up. But, armed with incomparable alcohol, I went into Crowley's shop the next morning and lined those bottles up like little soldiers on his desk. I didn't say a word and neither did he, but he stopped harassing us.”

Dean laughed. “That's funny, Cas.”

“It is,” Castiel agreed. “Later on, I started going to him for clothing. I already had a tailor, but Crowley's work sold me on his expertise. When you brought him here to liven up the manor and the people in it, I felt pleased. Like I said before, Pennyweight had too much of a predilection for dressing me in leather.”

Dean leaned against Castiel's right leg and relaxed, smiling and thinking about Crowley's audacious behavior. Castiel stroked his hair, which further caused his body to ease up.

A good half hour went by.

“Do you want to stay here tonight?” Castiel asked. “I can arrange blankets and food to be brought to you.”

“No. I want to sleep with you, Cas,” Dean answered. “But this is nice. I like that we can talk and not be overheard.”

“Yes, it's private. I used to come here before I discovered I could skip my ruts by indulging in violence. I could scream all I wanted, and there wasn't anything in here for me to destroy.” Castiel let his hand drop to the back of Dean's neck.

Dean shivered. “Cas, I'm going to tell you something that will make you pull your hand back, so please don't, because it's really okay.”

“... all right,” Castiel said hesitantly.

“That whole back of the neck thing you're doing? That's a presentation demand.”

Castiel's swallow was audible. “I had no idea.”

“I didn't think so. Just be careful not to casually do it to somebody. Most omegas will immediately get down on all fours and put their heads to the floor if they feel that from an alpha.”

Castiel sucked in a breath. “Have I been doing this to you often?”

“Two or three times,” Dean confessed. “The first time you did it I nearly collapsed.”

“Dean, I'm so sorry,” he said.

“It's okay, really,” Dean stressed again. “I know it probably just feels like a natural place to put your hand. And, honestly, it feels pretty good once I get over the automatic reaction.”

Castiel cautiously threaded his fingers upward into Dean's lower hairline. “I think it's more that you have a beautiful neck,” he said. “Strong and elegant.”

“Well, I had to get one good omega trait,” Dean said, chuckling. “Did you even know that's a 'thing' when looking for an omega? Yeah, the neck and throat. Like swinging big boobs at a randy sailor.”

Castiel gave a helpless little laugh. “No, I didn't know,” he said.

“St. Addams bought me for that,” Dean confessed. “I think he wanted a big omega just to destroy. Thanks for taking him down.”

“If I could have gotten away with it, I'd have killed him,” Castiel said.

“It was enough to ruin him, to make sure he couldn't hurt someone else,” Dean said.

 

 

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TheBails has been very, very kind to give us artwork to go with the story! This is her link to her site. She is very talented, and I am deeply flattered by her attention and her efforts.
> 
> http://thebails13.tumblr.com/post/134837718620/did-a-little-doodly-do-of-savails-version-of-dean

Dean was no expert, but while watching Castiel get dressed the next morning, he thought there should still be scratches on the alpha's body. No, they hadn't been deep, but they shouldn't have vanished over the course of a day and a night. “You heal fast,” he pointed out. “You were covered in scratches the night I bathed you. I used Crowley's ointment on you, but still...”

“I am a very quick healer, yes,” Castiel said, putting on a crisp white shirt. “I wish you were as well.”

“If you're talking about my brand, it's okay now,” Dean reported. “Want to see?”

Castiel's jaw jerked as he ground his teeth together. “Must I?”

“No.”

“Dean, I understand why you did that, but it sickens me,” Castiel said. He tied his cravat, not looking at Dean. “I would never brand a human being. I hate that you suffered through it.”

Dean rolled onto his stomach and stared at the pretty, cherry wood flooring. “Just turn around and look,” he said. “It'll make you feel better to know it's not hurting me.”

Castiel paced over to him, and looked down. “Oh,” he said, his voice somewhat diminished. “It's only red.”

“It'll eventually turn pink, then white,” Dean told him. “And, when you see it, it won't make you think about how much it hurt. It'll be a reminder that you have someone that's never going to leave you voluntarily. It will make you feel good instead of regretful.”

“I hope that I would never forget what you suffered in order to placate my family, and to secure your protection under my name,” Castiel said. He lightly traced the brand. “You're sure it doesn't hurt anymore?”

“Yeah, it's fine,” Dean assured. “Well, actually, no. Why don't you kiss it and make it better?” The bold tease slid out of his mouth before he could think about it or even stop it.

Castiel had gone very still behind him.

Dean waited. He'd either get what he wanted, or not. No sense in panicking now, not when he'd jumped into the hot water on his own. He felt Castiel's hands spread out on his waist and back, and the bed dipping down as Castiel rested a knee between Dean's. Heat flooded his back, shed by Castiel, and the scent of burgeoning alpha interest.

Dean's heart slowed down, but beat heavily in his chest.

The feel of Castiel's soft, parted lips pressing down in the center of Dean's brand caused a riot of tremors. Dean gasped. He aborted an instinctual backward thrust of his hips and instead ground down against the mattress. “Oh, shit, Cas,” he whispered. Then, with a whine he absolutely couldn't help, “Oh, shit...!”

“Mmm,” Castiel murmured against Dean's skin.

Dean's breathing hitched and faltered. His fingers dug into the sheets. Having Castiel back there, over top of him, was _amazing_. It satisfied him on a bone-deep level, powerful enough to be frightening.

“You're so lovely, Dean,” Castiel said, still touching Dean's skin with his soft lips, his deep voice reverberating inside Dean's ribcage. “A work of art. There's no one like you.”

Pretty words rarely moved Dean, but how could he help being affected when they were delivered by touch?

“You're powerful in your powerlessness, noble in your deeds, kind and caring,” Castiel said, his lips moving up to Dean's nape. “You make me glad to come home. I miss you whenever we're parted.”

Dean thought his heart would stop at the feeling of Castiel's hot breath, at the sensation of teeth nipping him lightly on the nape. He gave a spasm, and choked out a groan.

“I'd better stop now,” Castiel whispered. “These feelings of want are new to me, and I can't risk hurting you. But, thank you for the invitation to your body. You don't know what it means to me.”

Dean panted in stunned silence as Castiel drew away his hands and mouth. His eyes fixed on Castiel walking past him for his morning coat, and he watched him don it, feeling dazed. The large outline of Castiel's rigid cock made him feel weak. “I don't think you can hide that,” he said stupidly.

“I could hang my hat on it,” Castiel said, surprising Dean into laughter. “At the risk of vulgarity, it's time for me to visit the woodland and energetically mark territory. I doubt I take very long.”

“I'm sorry,” Dean said, but he didn't mean it.

“You aren't,” Castiel said, smiling at him. “I'll see you at lunch, Dean. Enjoy your morning, all right?”

“I will,” Dean promised. “Are you really going out like that?”

“I don't give one burning ember in Hell if people see what you do to me,” Castiel said, opening the door. “Polite human beings avert their eyes, and rude ones need the occasional thrill.” With that, Castiel left.

Dean didn't feel a need to beat off, but his omega gland ached to be allowed to work. He clenched up to stave off the slick, and had to lay there nearly thirty minutes before confident he wouldn't embarrass himself. Then, he got up and put some clothes on. He locked the bedroom, and went to see Ellen.

Ellen had her hands full. She had bread dough rising and soup on the stove in large vats. There were vegetables on the table ready for prepping. Kevin was cutting up squash. Both of them were red in the face, and Dean didn't think it from the heat. “Cas come this way?” He asked casually, peering into a pot to see what kind of soup.

“Yes,” Ellen said. “Would it be too much to ask if you didn't get him... excited... before he starts his daily business?”

“I didn't plan it,” Dean defended.

Kevin threw a bunch of squash pieces into a bowl. “Please, please, have your honeymoon away from the manor,” he said. “I don't want to hear the screaming.”

“He says it'll fit.” Dean couldn't resist saying that, and both his friends flushed even darker. He laughed, and started stirring the soup. “I never thought about a honeymoon,” he admitted. “We're not really on a schedule to find out about each other.”

“That doesn't mean you wouldn't enjoy some time together,” Ellen pointed out. “Do you know the date yet?”

“No.” Dean got a clean spoon to taste the soup. “This is good.”

“It's my mother's recipe,” Ellen told him, smiling. “Celery, bacon, squash and heavy cream boiled into chicken stock.” She took Kevin's finished work, and dumped it in. “I have a pot of fish chowder for those that want that instead.”

“I might have both,” Dean told her. “What's going on in the house today?”

“The elder Novaks are getting ready to go out with my husband, for thrill-killing carp,” Ellen informed. “I predict a winter filled with fish recipes. The master's young brother is lurking about in his room with his repugnant servants, Caruthers standing guard. Jo is probably at her school today. I haven't seen her yet. The smooth talking tailor is out with Bobby, if you can believe it. Similar ages, I suppose.”

“You're pretty caught up on where everyone is,” Kevin remarked.

“Dear, you can't be a domestic as long as I have without figuring out what questions to ask to whom, and, when,” Ellen told him. She turned and began punching down the risen bread dough. “Dean, if you want to help, kindly go down into the cellar and count how many bottles of wine we have on hand. Someone might need to go to the main storage and get more.”

Dean made it a quick run down to the cellar and lit some lamps with the handy matches kept by the door. He shut the door, though, to keep the cold breeze from entering. He counted fifty-two bottles. He grabbed one, and brought it up. “Fifty-one, because we're drinking this one,” Dean said. “I'm in the mood for it. Have you had it yet, Kev?”

“No,” Kevin said.

Dean poured them each a glass. Ellen drank hers like someone would take it away from her. Kevin had a taste, and smiled. “It's good,” he said, drinking a little faster.

“It certainly is,” Ellen told him. “We all drink quite a bit of it.”

They shared the bottle. Kevin got a little tipsy, and was given food to prepare that didn't require knives, like stripping ears of corn for corn chowder. Dean washed out the bottle and put it into the rack meant for the empty ones.

Samandriel suddenly entered the kitchen, reeking of three-way alpha sex. He ignored everyone, slicing himself some already made bread. He cut off some butter, using Ellen's vegetable knife to spread it.

Ellen ignored the lack of manners, and got a crock of cold milk from the ice box. She poured it for Samandriel and went back to punching down dough. Samandriel's eyes slid to Kevin, and darkened. He licked his lips. “What a pretty omega,” he commented.

Dean didn't hesitate. He stepped into Samandriel's line of sight. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Kevin isn't for you. Castiel promised he'd be free to choose his own mate.”

Samandriel swallowed down the bite he was currently masticating, and eyed Dean with distaste. “You don't get to tell me what to do, omega whore.”

Ellen inhaled sharply.

Dean smiled at Samandriel. “Novak blood or not, I will kick your ass if you take one step toward Kevin, now or in the future.”

“How dare you speak to me at all, much less threaten?” Samandriel said, his brow furrowing. “I'll have you horse whipped.”

“It wouldn't be my first time,” Dean told him.

Samandriel cocked his head. “I see what my sexless, uptight brother likes about you,” he mused aloud. “He's always enjoyed disrespectful omegas.” With that, he picked up the glass of milk and sloshed it into Dean's face.

Dean stood there, dripping, and didn't make one move. He stared at the boy.

Samandriel slapped him open-palm across the face.

“Master Novak,” Ellen whispered fiercely. “Your brother will beat you bloody!”

“He'll do no such thing,” Samandriel said. “All I have to do is mention how displeased I am to my servants, and Castiel will find himself in dire straights.” He punctuated his point by hitting Dean again, this time a hard back-hand.

Dean still didn't move. He continued to stand in Samandriel's way, dripping, his face stinging.

Samandriel picked up the butter smeared knife, and looked at the edge. “I want that omega in my bed,” he said.

“Too fucking bad,” Dean replied.

Samandriel swung, and Dean countered with a fan. The knife went sailing off to the left and buried itself into the back door's frame, quivering with the force.

“Have to be better than that,” Dean informed coldly. “You're not bending Kevin over.”

Samandriel took two steps back and grabbed an extra poker from the wall rack. He raised it up and brought it down, fast but not nearly fast enough. Dean deflected, and twisted his arm, bringing the poker down in such a way that Samandriel had to let go of it or risk getting his wrist wrenched. Dean caught it as it dropped, and threw it into a corner.

Ellen fled the room, and Kevin retreated far back, knocking his chair over in the process.

“You need your smart mouth sewn shut,” Samandriel said. “You don't have any right to deny me what I want, slut.”

“I don't _care_ what you want,” Dean countered. “You're a spoiled brat that needs his ass worn out with a stick.”

Samandriel's face transformed from anger to livid hate. He grabbed a jar and hurled it at Dean, then another and another. Dean used his fans to fend off each one, sending broken glass all over the kitchen. He was faster at defending himself than the boy was capable of throwing, and by the time Samandriel hefted a heavy sugar jar, Zachariah and Naomi were descending upon them.

“What is the meaning of this?” The patriarch of the family bellowed, snatching the sugar container and slamming it down so hard it cracked in half on the prep table.

“This overweening whore of an omega doesn't know his goddamn place!” Samandriel raged, his long hair flying out as he tossed his head.

Naomi pushed past her husband and slapped Samandriel's face so hard he staggered and spun. “You are such an _embarrassment_ to me to that I wish I'd never borne you,” she growled, and Dean nearly wet himself at hearing the raw choler, at smelling the wrath of a powerful, ferocious alpha that also scented maternally.

Dean got on his knees, but he didn't bow his head. He would not. He needed to see if Samandriel went toward Kevin. “He wants my friend,” he told Zachariah, meeting the man's eyes. “I contradicted him.”

“Of course you did,” Zachariah said. “Kevin is too good for my lazy, whore-mongering, alcoholic son.”

Samandriel's bottom lip quivered. He put a hand over the welt forming on his face, and hunched over, his eyes going from parent to parent in disbelief and indignant rage. “You would deny me the omega? Why?”

“Because he's a human being with _feelings_ ,” Zachariah answered, rounding on Samandriel. “Because your over-sexed personality doesn't assure you of anything, you stupid boy!” He took Samandriel by the shoulders, and shook him, hard. “This is not your house, these are not your people, and you can't _own_ someone!”

“Castiel owns this over-grown, mutant omega!” Samandriel protested, pointing at Dean. “I know all about it! He bought him with gold! That _proves_ you can own someone!”

“Dean stays with your brother because he _adores_ him,” Naomi corrected, her tone like the dead of winter. “ _All_ of his house staff do, omegas or not!” She faced Dean, then. “Dean, please get up. Show my ignorant son how you feel about Castiel. Show him what you did to prove it.”

Dean found his legs. Slowly, he got up and turned his back to the youngest Novak. His hands were shaking as he lifted his shirt.

“Dean did that of his own volition,” Zachariah said as Dean exposed his brand. “He did it so that no one could ever take him away from Castiel. You should pray to the Almighty every night that you are someday worthy enough to earn that kind of feeling, Samandriel. You certainly aren't going to merit it on the path you currently walk.”

Naomi strode over to Kevin and gently but insistently took his hand. “Kevin, dear, you come back to my room,” she said. “You are off duty for three days, and you will spend that time with me and Zach.”

“Yes, Madam Novak,” Kevin said, bowing his head.

“Dean, are you good to go?” Zachariah asked bluntly. “Your cheeks are flaming.” The elder Novak's face was calm, but barely, and Dean clearly read that Zachariah would do worse to his second born than Naomi did. He only needed the sanction from Dean's own lips.

Dean would not be party to alpha posturing or correction, in any way.

“I'm fine, Master Zachariah,” Dean said, using the familial-formal. “Thank you.”

“Don't thank me for being twenty-odd years too late in correcting my son,” Zachariah said. “Samandriel, you will clean up the mess in here, and go to an empty room in the east wing to await your brother's punishment. I'll be listening, so I'll know if you disobey. You are not to speak one more word to Dean, or to anyone else. And, because you've ruined the noon meal with broken glass, you will be Ellen's bitch for the next week.” He paused. “Why aren't you sweeping yet?”

Samandriel, his face like a snarling gargoyle, went for a broom. “You'll be leaving in a few days, Father,” he said.

“That's true,” Zachariah said. “By the time your brother gets done with you, you'll wish you'd left with me.”

When they were alone together, Dean met Samandriel's eyes. “Cas knows what mercy is,” he said. “Ask for it.”

“Shut the fuck up, you hulking omega,” Samandriel hurled at him.

Dean dumped out all the soup and glass-infested bread dough. Ellen hadn't come back, so he went and got fresh vegetables from the cellar, another bottle of wine, and some venison. While Samandriel continued to clean, he seared the meat and put it out to cool. He fried flour in oil mixed with venison leavings, and stirred it until creamy, then divided it between two pots.

He poured beef broth into the pots with a good measure of red wine in each, then cut up the deer meat. That got dropped into the pots to simmer on low heat. He sat at the prep table and began chopping onions, carrots and potatoes.

The silence stifled Dean. He set all the vegetables into the separate vats of hardy stew and made his mother's flat bread.

Castiel came in the back kitchen door, and shed his hat and coat. “It smells good in here,” he remarked as he turned. He went motionless as his eyes took in Dean's burning face, and the fact that his brother was cleaning. “What has happened?” He asked with a deadly kind of quiet.

“Your omega prostitute stepped in between me and a juicy breeder,” Samandriel snapped out, throwing his wiping cloth toward the fireplace. “I tried to correct the son of a bitch, and Mother and Father came down on me!”

Castiel's eyes focused upon Samandriel with such intensity that Dean couldn't even bear to look. “What did you _do_?” Castiel asked Samandriel. “Tell me the truth.”

“Oh, his name was Kevin, and your omega got in my way,” Samandriel said. “All I wanted was a good lay.”

Dean sneaked a glance in time to see Castiel's eyes close and his shoulders pull outward like an ox about to assume a yoke. “Dean,” Castiel said softly, so softly. “Go and get Bill and Bobby for me, would you?”

Dean bolted up and ran out the back door. Bobby was easy to find, being a perpetual denizen of the stables. “Report to Cas in the kitchen,” he panted out, then ran back into the rear yard and headed for the Harvelle cabin. He pounded on the door until Jo answered. “Cas needs your dad,” he said. “Right now, Jo.”

“I'm here, I'm here,” Bill said, stepping out. “Dean, take a deep breath. Inhale. That's it.”

Dean began to calm. “We had an altercation with Cas' brother, and Cas needs you,” he said. “Bobby's already on his way.”

“Well, this can't be good.” Bill reached to one side and his hand came back with a heavy cloak. “Stay with me, Dean,” he ordered firmly. “Keep taking deep breaths. Master Novak needs you to have some sense right now, I imagine.”

Dean forced his breathing to calm. He clutched onto Bill's bicep to steady himself. “Bill, it was bad,” he said. “Ellen left the kitchen to get Madam and Master Novak, and didn't come back. I don't know where she is.”

“She's probably in Madam Novak's rooms,” Bill said, throwing an arm around Dean's shoulders. “It's okay, Dean. We'll get through this. Stay strong.”

The scent of assured, steady alpha flooded Dean. He leaned on Bill all the way to the manor, only then realizing that it really wasn't just Cas and his family that didn't have alpha stink. Why hadn't he taken note that all of Castiel's alpha servants smelled okay to him until just now?

They entered to find Samandriel on the floor, unconscious, with a bleeding nose and mouth, Castiel calmly wiping his hands with a clean dish cloth. “Take him outside and chain him to the farrier post,” Castiel said. “Bill, you and Bobby are to make a one person stockade tonight, and put my brother in it. You will leave him to suffer, and not speak to him. Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Bill said as Bobby said a slurred 'yessir'. They dragged Samandriel out.

Castiel sat down at the prep table. “I believe your soup is mostly done,” he said to Dean. “Would you serve me a bowl?”

Dean got a deep tureen and ladled Castiel a good portion of soup. He put down a plate with flatbread on it, and gave Castiel a spoon. Lastly, he poured Castiel a large measure of wine.

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel said. “Please serve yourself, and sit with me. I'll feed you as you like tonight, but I think we both need quicker sustenance right now.”

Dean got himself a bowl and a glass, and sat beside of Castiel to eat.

For a short while it was all silence and tension. Then, Castiel tore off a piece of bread and hand fed it to Dean. “Your face is going to be bruised,” he said. “How many times did he strike you?”

“Twice,” Dean reported. “Your mom took Kevin to her room.”

“I'm glad.” Castiel ran his hand through Dean's hair. “How are you?”

“I'm okay,” Dean said. “Bill calmed me down a lot.”

Ellen returned and began portioning out Dean's soup for the other people in the house, her head down and sniffles coming often. Castiel got up and embraced her from behind, whispering something in her ear that Dean couldn't hear. She sagged backward against Castiel a moment, then gathered some strength and began carrying out bowls to the servant’s dining room.

Dean and Castiel finished their meal, and walked upstairs together. Castiel locked them in his bedroom and stared at the door. “You've suffered more in my own home than you ever did at your school,” he said quietly.

Dean got in bed and pulled the covers up. “I didn't have you at my school,” he pointed out. “This had nothing to do with you. At all.”

“I feel responsible,” Castiel said, and sat on the bed, looking down at him. “I knew Samandriel was damaged. I just didn't know he was so far gone from how decent people interact.”

“Cas, he might die out there in the cold,” Dean whispered.

“He won't learn his lesson by ordinary means,” Castiel replied, monotone. “Did he say anything to you of importance? Can you recall?”

“Yeah. He basically said that all he had to do was tattle on you to his servants, and you'd be in trouble,” Dean answered. “If that's not verification of how dangerous they are, I don't know what is.”

Castiel nodded. “It seems I'm not done. Stay here, Dean. Do you want Crowley to keep you company while I'm gone?”

“If he's around. Don't waste time looking for him.” Dean shut his eyes. “What will you do?”

“Witches are usually burned alive,” Castiel said. “But, I see no reason to draw out their deaths. I will be humane, Dean. Don't worry.”

Dean wished Cas wasn't going out to cold-bloodedly murder two people, but facts were facts. The Starks were dangerous, and Samandriel had control of them. Probably. Dean rolled onto his side, feeling like he couldn't get warm.

“Hello, darling,” Crowley's voice rather inveigled into Dean's ears. The door shut and locked, and Dean heard Crowley dragging a chair close to the bed. “Don't spend a lot of time fretting over any of this. Castiel will clean up the mess. You just relax.”

Dean sighed. “Have you seen Samandriel?”

“Bobby and Bill got the stocks done before you even quit lunch,” Crowley informed. “Samandriel is in it, awake, aware, and cussing a blue streak. Naomi and Zachariah are leaving for home this evening, I suppose because Castiel's taming of his brother will be brutal, and they don't want involved.”

“Can't say I blame them,” Dean muttered.

“Well, they intend to ask if they can take Kevin with them,” Crowley said. “They'd be back in three months. I think it's a good idea. Get the temptation out of the house and somewhere he feels safe. As Naomi's pet project that young man will reap great benefits.”

Dean didn't want to be parted from Kevin, but it really was the safest thing. “Yeah,” he said. “She likes him a lot, and he should see that not all rich alphas are out to just use him.”

“It's possible she's replacing Samandriel, you know,” Crowley said quietly.

“Yeah, I guess. She wanted more than two children anyway,” Dean told him. “Adopting Kevin would please her.”

A knock came at the door. Crowley opened it to reveal Kevin himself, who looked in and instantly went for Dean.

“Dean, Madam Naomi wants to take me from here,” he said, sitting on the bed and wringing his hands. “I kind of want to go, too.”

“Then go,” Dean advised, sitting up to hug him. “Let the nice lady give you good clothes and an education and social contacts. The Novaks are powerful people, Kev. They can give you things you never dreamed of having.”

“But, I shouldn't leave you,” Kevin protested.

“Why?” Dean hugged him again. “You won't be gone forever. We can write to each other. I'd see you again in three months, buddy.”

Kevin nodded, relaxing into Dean's embrace. “I'll get to travel on a ship again. I loved that. Madam Naomi says she can teach me the family business, and how to keep the books.”

“Sounds like you really ought to go with her,” Dean said. “I just started a new life here, Kevin. You're getting offered a good deal, I think.”

“Yeah.” Kevin slowly pulled free of Dean and took a sharp inhale. “I'll go tell her I want to. I want to do this.”

“All right. I'll see you again before you leave,” Dean told him.

Kevin left. Crowley shut and barred the door again. “Well handled, Dean,” the tailor praised.

“I'm gonna worry about that kid, and miss him,” Dean confessed. “But, who am I to stand in the way if Naomi wants to make him a personal project?”

“Indeed,” Crowley said.

 

* * *

 

 

The Starks got away, Dean found out around supper time. Castiel sent men out in every direction to find them, but no one had much hope of success. The constantly falling snow would cover tracks and deaden a scent trail. The hunting hounds were of no use.

“I hope they fucking freeze to death,” Bobby said as he ladled himself a bowl of corn chowder. He, Castiel, Bill and Ellen were eating in the kitchen with Dean, discussing the turn of events. “Do the world a favor.”

“It's too much to hope for,” Bill said, sighing. “Witchcraft can keep them alive, probably. We need to have their likenesses sketched and hung up in town, promising a reward.”

“I can draw Maggie,” Dean said. “I never saw Don.”

Ellen handed Dean a paper sack and a lump of charcoal. “If you make one, I can copy it,” she promised.

Dean quickly sketched Maggie's likeness, aware of being watched.

“Crap,” Bobby blurted. “Dean, you're an artist.”

Dean shrugged. “Comes in handy when Crowley and I work together,” he said.

Castiel finished his second glass of wine, and twirled the stem between his fingers. “Dean, I had to postpone our formal ceremony. My parents want to be here for it, but Kevin's safety took precedence.”

“I figured,” Dean said. “It's fine. I didn't want Kevin here during the mess.”

Castiel nodded shortly. “Let's you and I go for a walk to the lake. I'll take my best dog with us.” He got up from the table and kissed Ellen's forehead. “Good meal, Ellen.”

Ellen blushed, and busied herself with dishes as her husband laughed.

Castiel strapped a saber to his waist, one he'd carried downstairs an hour ago. “Bill, Bobby, I want you two to spread the word around the estate. No one, omega, beta or alpha, is to go about unarmed. There are too many unknown variables lately. Those that can no longer defend themselves are to be given a dog for home defense. If this means emptying out all the dog breeder kennels from here to the coast, get it done.”

“Any preference?” Bobby grunted.

“I'd prefer mastiff pups,” Castiel admitted. “But, I want you to search long and hard and see if you can find a healthy jindo for Dean.”

Bobby nodded slowly. “I approve,” he said. “Perfect dog for Dean.”

“Jo might like one of those, too,” Bill murmured.

“Then, get her one, or even two,” Castiel said. “She can handle a pair easily, and it wouldn't hurt for her to have the extra protection. See if you can't get her to live on the estate proper instead of in a tent.”

“Ain't gonna happen, sir,” Bill told him. “I can try, but my Jo-Beth has the touch of the wild. She hates four walls more than anything.”

Castiel smiled. “Yes, I can see that in her.”

They left the house, stopping at the kennel, which Dean hadn't even known existed. He saw it kind of like a barn for dogs, except the dogs could move in and out freely. Castiel got a lightly fawn-colored dog from a stall, and bent to speak to him lowly. Dean couldn't hear what he said, but the animal followed them back out and flanked Dean's other side.

“So, horses and dogs,” Dean commented. “What else?”

“Cattle, chickens, sheep, goats,” Castiel answered, smiling a little. “My friend Balthazar, who owns a dairy, insists I keep the sheep. He has a niche market for a certain sheep's milk cheese. I tend to trade it for the goat cheese, as we all seem to like it more.”

“Meg mentioned the Roche dairy early on in my time here,” Dean said. “I got the idea Balthazar was lively.”

“He _is_ quite lively,” Castiel said, smirking. “A beta, and rightly proud of it.”

Dean looked far down the grounds, seeing Samandriel's bent over figure. He felt bad the young man might freeze to death. “Cas, can't we throw a blanket over him?” He asked.

Castiel hesitated. Then, he nodded briefly. “Only because you asked me,” he said. “I'll do it myself when we get back. I thought some light exercise might lift your spirits. But, you can't rest while my brother is suffering, can you?”

“Not really.” Dean spared Samandriel another glance before looking out over the lake. “He can't get any better if he's dead.”

“True.” Castiel stopped them at Dean's balance beams, and looked up at the longest, largest one. “I felt very impressed with you, watching how graceful you are, how strong. I'm not ordinarily moved to carnal thoughts, Dean. Samandriel has often accused me of an underdeveloped sexuality, and he isn't wrong.”

“ _I see what my sexless, uptight brother likes about you,”_ Samandriel had said to Dean. And before that, in Castiel's room, _“You even got an omega, probably because your retarded sex drive finally got to be too much!”_

“I'm not sure your brother is the best judge of how developed you are, in any way,” Dean said carefully. “He stinks of jealousy, and that always makes either a liar, or, an exaggerator, out of someone.”

Bowing his head, Castiel leaned on a pole. “You speak truly. He was always jealous of me. Of my birth standing, my looks, and later, even this manor. Mother and Father gave him an estate in Carran, and he ran it to ruin in eight months.”

“Wow. That took effort,” Dean murmured. He grabbed a beam and vaulted up. He wouldn't be able to do anything fancy with snow and ice everywhere, but he could take in the view from a higher place. “He's not an ugly kid. Why be jealous of your looks?”

“Dean, you have little idea of how motivating appearance can be. You didn't care if you never saw yourself in a mirror,” Castiel said carefully, looking up at him. “Samandriel is an alpha, and most alphas want to be tall, strapping and strong. I wouldn't say I'm 'strapping', but my strength exceeds the ordinary alpha's, and you're the only person I've ever met that's taller than me, besides my father.”

Dean smiled down. “I was so surprised at how easily you hauled me up to sit on your horse,” he confessed. “I'm not exactly light.”

“You don't weigh a thing to me,” Castiel told him, unsmiling. “I could hold you in my arms for days. Weeks, even. Samandriel knows of my strength, and it eats him up.” He held his arms out. “Jump, Dean.”

Dean had no reason to hesitate or disobey. He jumped out, and Castiel caught him. He knew why Castiel felt so somber, but he couldn't help grinning at him. After a moment, Castiel released a breath followed by a reluctant laugh.

“You're so fun-loving at times,” Castiel said. “I'd like to never see anything darken your heart.”

“You know that's impossible.”

“Yes, that doesn't mean I can't wish.”

Castiel carried Dean closer to the lake. Dean enjoyed Castiel's warmth. When he got put down, he stood against Castiel's side.

“Does the lake ever freeze over?” Dean asked.

“Yes. In January we can ice skate. The staff love it. Contained fires are built on the ice, and we enjoy ourselves.” Castiel put his arm behind Dean's back. “I'd hoped my parents would stay that long. It would have been nice to have Christmas with them.”

“You mean Yule?” Dean asked.

Castiel smiled. “Another word for it,” he said.

Dean looked at that handsome face, sensing mysteries and secrets. He let that go for now, though.

The dog began barking, and bounded off into the snowy brush. Castiel held his arm out so Dean wouldn't move. “Ruto is investigating. Stand quietly. Let me listen to how he makes noise.”

The crashing around continued for some time, then the dog began whining.

“Bring it back, Ruto,” Castiel ordered firmly but calmly. “Alive, please.”

The big dog returned with a ball of fuzz dangling from his mouth. The fuzz ball let out a screech.

“We don't kill lynx, boy,” Castiel said as if reminding him. He took the kitten from the dog. “Were there any more?”

Ruto sat down.

“Abandoned, then,” Castiel said, holding the frightened kitten up to his face. “She must have had too many to feed. It happens sometimes.”

“Can I?” Dean asked, holding out his hands. “I've never seen a lynx.”

Castiel nodded. “Just a moment. I need to calm her down. She's very scared.” He tucked the kitten under his coat and spoke to her quietly, making soothing sounds. A few minutes later, he pulled her out and gave her over to Dean.

“Wow, how cute,” Dean said. “Will she die without her mother?”

“No, because you're going to raise her,” Castiel said. “I'll cancel my orders to give you a dog. You won't need one now.”

“But, it's just a cat,” Dean protested.

“That cat will be just under a hundred pounds when fully grown,” Castiel said. “The more you and I handle her, the more she imprints upon us. Believe me, I can convince the cat to protect you.” He put his hands behind his back, staring at Dean with quiet focus. “Would you really rather have a dog?”

“No.” Dean put the kitten inside his coat. “How will we feed her, Cas?”

“I'll get some goat's milk and an eyedropper,” Cas told him. “I'll just have Garth bring a goat here. It can stable with the horses.” He held his hand out suddenly. “Come on. Let's take her to the house where it's warm. She's not very vulnerable to cold, but she's been out here alone for awhile, and her resistance is weakened.”

Silently, they walked back. Dean sat down at the kitchen hearth with his new pet, and put her down at his feet to see if she could even walk. He barely heard Castiel telling him he'd get a sand filled box for her to use. He watched the tiny, dark colored cat with stripes and big eyes slowly begin to explore, enchanted.

When Castiel returned he made Dean take the cat with them upstairs. They set the sand box in a corner. Castiel gave Dean an eyedropper, and very small pan of milk. “Heat it up a little at the fireplace,” Castiel suggested. “I'll hold her while you do. She needs to be able to identify us both by smell.”

All the while Dean carefully heated the milk, Castiel whispered to the kitten. Dean couldn't hear the words, just the calming, assuring tones he used. Dean thought of the bluebird, and figured Cas really just had a way with animals. He had control of his enormous horse, right? The dog listened to him, too.

“I think I can give this to her now,” Dean said.

Castiel handed the kitten over. “Her name is a scent, so if you want to give her an audible name, she's amiable,” Castiel said.

Dean coaxed the kitten to drink, which she really enjoyed once she knew what was going on. “You're kind of strange sometimes, Cas,” he said. “You know that, right? Most people don't easily tame wild animals.”

“I don't tame animals at all.” Castiel opened his bureau and got a blanket out. “I'm going out to see Samandriel now. Be sure you don't let the kitten settle down too close to the fire.”

Dean enjoyed the peace with his kitten. After her feeding he took her to bed with him, and let her crawl all over the place. He dozed lightly by the time Castiel returned.

“Early night for us all,” Castiel said, starting to undress. “Have you thought of a name for her?”

“Not yet,” Dean answered, sleepy. “Is your brother okay?”

“Well enough to hurl insults,” Castiel said. He built up the fire, returning to put on a pair of sleeping trousers made of cotton. “I covered his hands. He won't lose his fingers and toes tonight. I told Bobby to build a fire close to him. That will keep him from freezing to death while leaving him very, very uncomfortable.”

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean murmured, barely keeping his eyes open.

Castiel extinguished the lights and got into bed. He scooped up the cat, and put her on his chest. She turned around on him three times before plopping down with her butt pointed toward his face. “I don't know why they do that,” he said thoughtfully. “Something to do with identifying each other with anal glands, I think. I wish she wouldn't give me the courtesy.”

Dean snickered. He wound his arm around Castiel's waist. “I guess _my ass_ is the only one you're interested in.”

“You have a very fine ass, Dean,” Castiel said, smiling and closing his eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

Castiel took Samandriel away from the manor, to an undisclosed location. For a week he only came back for a few hours at a time each day, to check on Dean, hold the kitten, get a meal, and make certain he wasn't needed.

Dean appreciated that Castiel seemed to be going out of his way to give him personal time. He figured that Cas had Samandriel in the woodland somewhere, and chained him up when he needed to visit. And, Dean didn't like how haggard Castiel looked. Day by day it got worse.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel greeted, sitting on the moss covered log beside him. “Are you out here alone?”

“Ruto is on the other side of that bramble thicket,” Dean informed. “I speared him a couple of fish, and he's happily eating.” He gave the kitten sling over to Castiel. He'd knitted it the second day of owning her, just to keep her close to him as he went about his day. So far, she hadn't complained. Also, she was a lot bigger than he thought she should be.

Castiel smiled at the kitten, touching noses with her. “Aren't you a big girl?” He asked, smiling even wider when she meowed, and batted his cheek.

Dean looked at those bright blue eyes and the dark smudges of fatigue underneath. Castiel's face showed a few crinkles near his eyes, as if he smiled often, but Dean could bet he hadn't smiled today until seeing the baby lynx. “Cas, if you have to stay out there with your brother, do it,” Dean said. “I appreciate your effort, but you're getting tired.”

“I'm bringing him back tomorrow morning,” Castiel said, lightly petting the kitten. “Isolation only took the majority of the aggression out of him. He needed to know I was serious, and now he does.”

“Really?” Dean doubted that.

“It's a matter of draining him,” Castiel explained. “Without an audience, he can only focus on me. Without his servants, he relies upon me to feed him and keep him safe.” He shrugged slightly as he smoothed the kitten's whiskers back one side at a time. “It's how Bobby reconditions abused or aggressive horses. You make the animal rely upon you.”

“Samandriel isn't an animal,” Dean pointed out.

Castiel met his eyes, and cool as anything, said, “Actually, Dean, he is.”

Dean's mouth went dry. He pushed down a strange and indefinable sense of fear. “That makes _you_ an animal, Cas.”

Castiel nodded solemnly. “If you could see me when I fight in the Alpha Arrangement, you would agree.”

They held each other's eyes for what seemed a long, long time. Dean got lost in all that blue. But, his eyes slid shut on their own at feeling Castiel's strong, work-roughened hand gently spreading out over his jaw.

“In my life I've never seen a man as lovely as you,” Castiel murmured. “Every feature both handsome and beautiful... And, inside, you're like a burning sun. Pure and bright. No one could look at you and deny God's existence. He put extra work into your creation.”

“Cas...” Dean leaned into Castiel's hand. Though they sat out here in front of the cold lake, he felt so warm.

“ _And, Dean_ _ **is**_ _pure,” Castiel said, rubbing Dean's head lightly. “I've harmed purity.”_

Dean thought that maybe Cas had never meant virginity. He considered Dean pure for something else. For what he was on the inside.

Dean didn't know how he'd gotten so lucky as to be bought by an alpha so focused on treating people well. Even Castiel's parents were like that. How did Samandriel miss the lessons of his parents and brother?

“You make me want to do anything but sleep in the woods with my fiend of a brother,” Castiel said, and Dean's eyes popped open. “I miss my bed, and the person in it.”

Dean smiled as Castiel's hand dropped away. “It's terrible to not have you keeping me warm,” he told him. “I feel safe enough, but it's different when I can put my hand on you any time I want.”

“I couldn't agree more.” Castiel gave him the kitten back gently.

It might have been Dean's imagination, but the baby lynx felt heavier when he slung her back around his neck.

Castiel got up and stretched. “Make sure you introduce the cat to the dogs,” he said. “Don't let them get too close. Just allow them to smell you. I don't want her in danger.”

“I've already been doing that,” Dean reported. “Ruto's been sleeping in your bedroom, by the way. I can't make him leave me.”

“I asked him to stay with you,” Castiel said. “Until tomorrow, Dean. Sleep well.”

“You too, Cas,” Dean said, sorrowing inside.

 


	18. Chapter 18

Dean woke up the next morning to find Sphinx sitting on his chest, staring at him. She was heavier, bigger than when he'd gone to bed. No mistaking it. He braced her close and sat up, swung his legs down, and went for Crowley's room. His knock was met with a befuddled sort of “Whazzit?”

Dean opened the door and stuck his head inside the room. Crowley, attempting to lever himself out of a piled-up bed, tumbled to the floor. “Ow!” Crowley rubbed his butt cheek and glared up at Dean. “Do you ever sleep past dawn?”

Dean brandished the kitten. “What would make this cat grow so much in a week?” He asked. “Is Cas doing some kind of whammy-mojo on her or something? Is it the milk?”

Crowley got up and took Sphinx to look at her. “She's not touched by magic,” he said. “Maybe you're feeding her better than her mother could.” He gave her back, and yawned behind a hand.

Dean only then noticed Crowley's entire chest was crawling with tattoos. His arms and shoulders had thick, black lines and patterns swirling around. He turned his back to get a dressing gown, showing Dean he had an enormous dragon back piece. “Those are beautiful,” he whispered, slightly stunned. All that ink served to make Crowley rather savage looking.

“Hm?” Crowley followed Dean's stare, and gave a silent little 'oh'. He put on his robe and cinched it shut, yawning again. “Most of them are for protection,” he explained. “My mother did them when I was a child, and every time I had a growth spurt I had to have them redone.”

“That's pretty intense,” Dean said.

Crowley shrugged. “She wasn't the best role model, being a witch, but she _was_ effective.”

Noise from downstairs made Dean back up and look over the bannister. Castiel was walking down the lower hall, his brother behind him on a dog chain. Crowley joined him in watching, and gave a low whistle. “Castiel doesn't fuck around,” he commented. “Like his brother is a disobedient mutt. Shit, that's humiliating. Castiel's going to have you sitting _beside_ him for meals for awhile, Dean.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asked.

“He's treating his brother like an out of favor omega,” Crowley said very quietly. “Expect to see Samandriel eating out of a dog's bowl. Also, I'd like to point out that's a choke chain around his neck.”

Dean looked again, Crowley had seen correctly. “Oh shit,” Dean whispered. “Making his alpha brother accept punishment like an omega... That's diabolical.”

Castiel took the stairs, pulling Samandriel with him. The younger Novak was bruised, cut, and generally beaten. He kept his head down, and when he balked at going up, Castiel reined him in with a sharp jerk that cut off Samandriel's air.

“The _neck_ , Dean,” Crowley stressed again, muttering. “Castiel's using so much symbolism it makes my head hurt. Samandriel's disrespect for omegas is what got him bound there.”

Castiel reached the top landing. Samandriel resisted being pulled into the bedroom, and Castiel swept out a leg to knock him off his feet. In the next second, he had his boot on Samandriel's jaw, forcing his cheek to the floor and ensuring silence as well as immobility. “You _will_ submit,” he informed coldly. “Keep testing my patience, Samandriel, and I'll show you why I never lose a fight.”

Dean felt his insides quiver. Castiel looked like an angry god standing there, one foot on his brother's face and one hand holding the choke chain taut. It was horrible.

And, it was _hot_.

Dean smelled Crowley thought so, too.

“Lucky, lucky you, Dean,” Crowley whispered.

Sphinx gave a little meow, and Castiel's head turned to look in their direction. “Crowley,” he greeted calmly. “Take Dean into your room, please. Dean, I'll be with you momentarily.”

Crowley pulled Dean into his room, and shut the door. He then leaned on it. fanning his face with his hand. “I've never seen him like that,” Crowley said. “He's always so mild-mannered.”

Dean's legs felt like noodles. He sat heavily on the bed, clutching his kitten close. “I'm _excited_. Why am I excited?”

“Because that's a fuck-all of a thing to see right at dawn, the first moment,” Crowley replied faintly. “Talk about starting the day right.”

“Crowley,” Dean protested. “I shouldn't think it's... sexy to see Cas punishing his brother!”

“Why not?” Crowley asked, dropping down beside him. “He's not twisting his brother in the sheets. That was a power display, and a power display is all about the sexy.”

“Make me some heat suppressant, you twisted tailor,” Dean snapped, a hair's breadth away from panic. “I can't be distracting Cas. Got anything for the way we smell?”

“Hold on, hold on,” Crowley muttered. He got up and staggered to his fireplace to get the iron kettle. “Look in that stone box sitting on my bureau. It's under the bolt of very fine, off-white linen.”

“You're a slob,” Dean bitched, but he put Sphinx on the bed and unearthed the box. It had a spray bottle in it, like what women used to pump a mist of perfume on themselves.

“And you're a smart mouth,” Crowley shot back, grinding herbs in a mortar so hard that the sound made Dean's teeth itch. “Get that bottle out and start spraying the room. God's sake, don't squirt yourself, or the cat!”

“What is this?” Dean asked, hurriedly spritzing furniture and drapes. “It smells like ass!”

“Fake alpha scent, which Castiel won't find at all appealing, but it'll cover up that we're in the mood for love.” Crowley knocked plant dust into two cups and added the boiling water. “Get over here and drink this, quick. Fuck. All I can think about right now is getting a knot. Preferably, Bobby Singer's.”

“He's mated,” Dean said, and he had a sip of the horrible brew.

“Not anymore. His wife died almost a year ago,” Crowley said. “I've been trying to get his attention, but he's still in mourning, so...”

They were drinking the noxious infusion when Castiel knocked and entered. The master of the house took one whiff of the room and recoiled with his hand over his nose. “That is the most loathsome, synthesized alpha odor I've ever had the misfortune to smell,” he said, kind of muffled.

“Better than hitting your perfect little nose with randy omega twice over,” Crowley told him. “Your dominance display hit me right in my glands. If I'd known you looked like that while pissed off, I'd have tried harder insults outside the cathedral.”

Castiel scowled at Crowley, not his usual scowl, either, but one of disdain.

“Not helping, stud,” Crowley said. “Take your omega and get out of here, before I talk myself into something unwise.”

Castiel scooped up Sphinx and took Dean by the hand, pulling him out the door. Dean swallowed the remaining bit of suppressant, throwing the cup onto Crowley's bed at the last possible second.

Castiel leaned over the bannister, and sucked in clean air. “Foul,” he reiterated. “That stink makes me want to slit throats.”

“Guess it does its job, then,” Dean said, rubbing his kitten's cheek with his own.

“Whew.” Castiel stood up straight and shook himself. “Let's stand here a moment. We can't go into our bedroom with that miasma clinging to us.”

Sphinx meowed.

“I know,” Castiel said in a distracted manner. “Truly foul.”

“Cas,” Dean said. “Can you actually understand what Sphinx is saying?”

“That would be ridiculous, wouldn't it?” Castiel asked, straightening his rumpled clothing. “You named her Sphinx. Sphinx the lynx.” He let his head drop back and grinned with his mouth open. “Oh, that's hilarious.”

“I thought so,” Dean said.

“Hm. Do you know about the Great Sphinx?” Cas asked conversationally.

“Sonny told me about it,” Dean answered. “He got to see it before sand covered it up.”

“Oh, he was most fortunate,” Castiel said. “I think the sand will protect it for awhile. It's a great work, and needs preserved.” He took a few sniffs close to Dean. “Thank goodness that smell is gone,” he said. “We can go into our room now.”

“Is your brother in there?” Dean tucked Sphinx in the crook of his arm and followed Cas down the hallway.

“Yes. Chained to the fireplace andirons, which means no fire tonight. You'll have to be satisfied with my warmth instead.” Cas opened the door for him, looking at him slyly with his eyes half closed and one corner of his mouth pulling up. “I expect no hardship for you.”

Dean, _enchanted_ that Cas had flirted with him, blushed. He stumbled a little bit going in, and Castiel put a hand under his elbow, laughing lowly. He took Sphinx and put her on the floor.

But, Castiel only steadied Dean for a moment. Once Dean was beside the bed, he overbalanced him and grabbed his hand, helping him into a slow motion fall onto his back, on the mattress. He hadn't even quit moving before Cas crouched over him on all fours.

Dean made a quick check for Samandriel. He found a dressing partition in the way, a big, folding screen that gave them visible privacy.

“You have to be quiet,” Castiel said in Dean's ear, warm and low. He pulled back and looked down at Dean, the scent of satisfaction oozing from his pores. “I missed you, Dean,” he announced softly. “I missed seeing your smiles.”

Dean turned to goo inside. “Shit, Cas,” he breathed. “The things you say to me sometimes...”

Castiel watched Dean's mouth forming words, all attention. “The things I _don't_ say to you,” he countered. “Yet.”

A violent shiver tore through Dean's pliant body.

“I will _kill_ myself by eating half burned firewood if I have to hear you two make love,” Samandriel growled.

“Ten points,” Castiel said, loud enough to be heard plainly. Then, to Dean, “I have my brother on a point system. He has to reach a thousand before the collar comes off. I just gave him ten for calling it 'making love' instead of 'fucking', as he's prone to say. He's up to sixty points. I don't understand what happened to his intelligence, because he was never this slow at learning anything.”

“Goddamn it, Castiel!”

“Minus fifteen points for blasphemy,” Castiel amended, still looking at Dean with admiring eyes. “Your total is now at forty-five. Remember what I said would happen if you got down to zero?”

Samandriel went quiet. Then, as Dean stared at Castiel's beautiful lips, he heard the boy say, “I'm sorry.”

“Plus five,” Castiel said. “I'll make it five more if you apologize to the one you slandered. I'll know it if you pretend.”

Dean began to feel a little awkward.

Castiel, perhaps reading that on his face, rolled off of Dean and lay beside him on his back. He took his hand, though, and just held it. “I'm lying to him,” Castiel whispered in Dean's ear. “I can't sense prayers directed to God.”

Dean smiled at the ridiculousness of the situation, and at Castiel's confession.

“Sa- _ **man**_ -driel,” Castiel said in a terrible tone.

“Okay, okay,” Samandriel said, sounding a little frightened.

Again, Castiel whispered in Dean's ear. “It's bad when someone knows you that well, I suppose.”

Dean laughed silently, and got on his side. He pressed against Castiel so he could put his head on that hard shoulder. Sphinx climbed the bed covers and walked up Castiel's body, purring. She settled with her butt toward his face, as usual.

“What will happen when he gets to zero?” Dean asked.

“I'll cut off all the fingers on his left hand, except the thumb, starting with the smallest,” Castiel informed. “My cigar cutter will make it quick and clean.”

Dean went still and speechless, because he knew Castiel wasn't lying. He could hear it in his voice. He'd really cut his brother's fingers off.

“A little less frantic of a prayer this time,” Castiel said to Samandriel. “Try to pray because you know what you did was wrong, and not out of the fear that I'll give you what you deserve.”

Samandriel said nothing, just moaned a little.

“You haven't eaten breakfast yet, have you Dean?” Castiel asked.

“Um, no,” Dean managed to say. “I'd gotten up to talk to Crowley about Sphinx's rapid growth.”

“She's not growing too fast,” Castiel said, petting her. “You've been feeding her whenever she starts acting restless, like I suggested?”

“Yeah,” Dean said.

“Good. We'll start her on meat today. I killed a few snow hares on my way back home. That's what lynx like to eat. If you can skip breakfast, I'd enjoy a nap with you, Dean.”

“I can go back to sleep,” Dean promised. Castiel's warm, strong body would make it a pleasure to try, anyway.

 

* * *

 

 

“I'll be taking my meals in the kitchen indefinitely, Ellen, my apologies,” Castiel said as he shoved his brother down to the floor in front of the cutting table. “Samandriel needs to have better manners before I inflict him upon the staff.”

“Of course, sir,” Ellen said, wiping her hands on a fresh towel. “Three meals a day, then?”

Dean heard her hope, and smiled to himself.

“At least two,” Castiel said, sighing. “My brother requires more food than I do.”

“I see.” Ellen put her hands on her hips and gave Castiel a teasing smile. “What will it be, then?”

“Whatever you have ready,” Castiel said. He put Dean's stool down beside his chair. “Dean, will you please go to the kennel and get a bowl?”

Dean made it a fast trip. When he came back in, he washed the bowl out and poured boiling water into it to clean it properly.

“That wasn't necessary, but I'm sure Samandriel appreciates your thoughtfulness,” Castiel said. He jerked on his brother's neck chain.

“Thank you,” Samandriel croaked, the rage in his voice barely contained.

“Say his name,” Castiel ordered coldly.

“Thank you, Dean,” Samandriel growled.

“Good dog.” Castiel opened a bottle of wine that Ellen sat out for him.

Ellen put a plate of something down for Castiel, winking at Dean before dropping some of the same food into Samandriel's bowl.

Dean settled on his comfortable stool, glad he wasn't practically under the table, like Samandriel.

“This is a new recipe,” Ellen said. “After you finish it I'll give you something very special, sir.”

“Oh?” Castiel reached for his fork. “Samandriel, no hands,” he then ordered.

“Yes.” Ellen poured wine for him, and again winked at Dean.

Dean smiled. Ellen, plainly, had something up her sleeve.

Castiel used knife and fork to cut up the noodles. “This smells good,” he said. He gave a piece to Dean.

Dean's mouth instantly rejoiced. It was coconut, curry, and chopped up cashews on rice noodles. “Oh, Cas,” he said. “You're going to _love_ this.”

Castiel tried a bite, and groaned. It was so long and low that Dean felt his omega gland spasm. “Ellen...”

“A victory!” Ellen tossed her head proudly. “Your mother left you a gift of canned coconut milk, sir. She left recipes, too, and Dean can help me read them.”

“I'm going to send my mother a barrel of lavender honey,” Castiel swore. He fed Dean another noodle. “Remind me, Dean.”

“Of course.”

They ate with as much decorum as possible when confronted with the best tasting stuff, ever, ignoring the wine until finished. Dean could hear Samandriel trying to eat his own portion without making a mess. By the sound, failing. Dean surreptitiously dropped a napkin for him.

“Thank you... Dean,” Samandriel said.

“Twenty points,” Castiel told him. He gave Dean a drink of wine. “Be glad of Dean's kindness, because I don't have any for you.”

Relaxed and comfortably full, Dean accepted drink after drink. He felt Samandriel watching them.

“Castiel?” Samandriel asked, almost inaudible.

“Yes, brother?” Castiel inquired.

“Why are you feeding... Dean... that way?”

“It's how it's supposed to be done,” Castiel answered. “It's how a treasured omega is given food. You choose what he eats, and it forces you to carefully consider his nutrition. And, an omega needs assurance. This is one of the best ways to give that assurance.” Castiel paused. “Fifty points for paying attention, and being brave enough to ask. Another twenty for using Dean's name twice without prompting.”

Ellen went to the ice box, coming back with a cloth covered plate. “Sir, do you remember the dark chocolate you gave me for my birthday?”

“Yes. Imported from Galana, the chocolate capitol of the world,” Cas answered.

“You paid a lot of money for it,” Ellen said. “I wanted to share it with you, because it's so good. And, I know you don't care for sweets, but please try these.” She uncovered the plate to reveal about twenty pieces of chocolate speared through the middle by slender pieces of wood. It looked like she'd melted the chocolate and dipped some things.

Castiel smiled a little bit. “You've made me curious,” he admitted.

“Try that one first,” Ellen said, pointing to a smaller piece.

Castiel slid the thing into his mouth and bit down. His eyes widened. “Ellen, you covered cashews,” he said in wonder. “It's...”

“Delicious,” she finished for him. “See the difference between that one you just ate, and this one? Eat it next, then do as you please for Dean.”

Castiel readily obeyed, and again he groaned. “Pineapple,” he said reverently. “Oh, Ellen, did Mother leave pineapple, too?”

“She left four whole ones,” Ellen reported. “They ought to keep another week. You'll have a pineapple treat every day.”

“Two barrels of honey,” Castiel said. He began feeding Dean, too.

Oh, they were good. So good. Dean took two from the plate and handed them down, not knowing if Samandriel would accept food from him, but willing to try. After a moment, he felt them leave his hand.

“Thank you, Dean,” Samandriel rather sighed, sounding defeated.

“Twenty points,” Castiel murmured.

 

* * *

 

 

“Don't fret, Dean,” Castiel said. “There are people in the kennel to make sure the stove stays lit with no risk of fire, and Samandriel has a blanket as well as new, fresh hay. He'll be warm. Humiliated, but warm.”

“It's not that I'm really all that worried,” Dean told him, soaping up his arms. “I mean, I didn't want him in here tonight.”

“You think I might be carrying the 'dog thing' too far?” Castiel asked as he got into the tub with him.

“No, it's not that, either,” Dean admitted. “What you're doing to him seems to be working. He wasn't snarling or glaring at me by the time you took him out there.”

“Ah. Well, that isn't entirely because of me,” Castiel said, leaning back and closing his eyes. “No, I have to correct myself. It _is_ because of me, but I've been using you to change his thinking. I knew you would feel pity for him, and it throws my cruelty into a contrast in Samandriel's mind. He can tell that your kindness is your own idea, and he wonders why you would feel anything for his suffering.”

Dean bowed his head. “Oh, shit,” he said. “That means he doesn't think about others at _all_.”

“Exactly,” Castiel said on an exhale. “My Christmas delivery of meats and cheeses is tomorrow. We'll take a few large carts with us into town, and you and Samandriel will help me hand out food to the unfortunate people on the west side. This year I'm also giving out grain and blankets. Please attend the business with all the attention you can manage, and see if you can spot any glaring deficiencies. Because, I'm making another delivery the next week.”

“I'll do my best, Cas,” Dean swore. “Who's going with us?”

“Bobby, Bill, Jo, Wilkes, and Crowley. Crowley has promised to act as a physician. He has it all planned.” Castiel took the soap Dean offered, and washed his face quickly. “Jo has decided, very kindly, to donate a few of the new weapons my mother gave her, to those who don't have them and need to hunt. She's driving one cart.”

“How about Bill?” Dean asked.

Castiel smiled tiredly. “Bill is unable to pass up an opportunity to help anyone. I trust that man to do what is right, without fail.”

“I like him a lot,” Dean said. “Is Bobby driving our cart?”

“No, I'm driving our cart,” Castiel informed. “Bobby is driving Crowley's cart. I've seen how the lippy tailor looks at him. They're a good match.”

“Not much gets by you, Cas,” Dean said, chuckling. “So, where does Wilkes fit in?”

“His family lives in town, and he wants to make sure they get a portion of what we hand out. They live almost entirely off of his salary.” Castiel reached out and put a hand on Dean's shoulder. “Pull your legs up.”

Dean did, and Cas twirled him around so that his back was to Castiel's front.

“I have a request of you, Dean,” Castiel said as he wetted Dean's hair. He put some shampoo on him, and began digging his fingers into Dean's scalp.

“You know I'd say 'yes' to anything you asked, especially while you washed my hair,” Dean groaned.

“Really? I'll keep that in mind,” Cas said. “Crowley informed me you can knit. What I want is for you to knit as many warm clothes and blankets as you can before the next delivery. A cold snap is coming. I don't want people to die when I might be able to prevent it.”

“Of course, Cas,” Dean agreed, sobering. “How about I teach some of those drifting servants we took from St. Addams, and show them how to card, spin, and knit, too?”

“That's a splendid notion. Force them if they balk.” Castiel tilted Dean's head back to rinse. “I'll learn, too. This time of year I have little to do outside.”

Dean got his head covered in conditioner by Cas' able hands. He sat there, thinking for a moment, when an idea came to him. “Cas, may I teach Samandriel how to fish the way I do?”

“I'll have to supervise, but yes,” Castiel said after a moment's consideration. “You're going to have to break ice to do it, if you don't want to go out on a boat, because all the water around the lake edge is frozen to the depth of a foot or so.”

“That's fine, because we'll need to cut the ice into blocks and line some more carts with it,” he said. “I'll bet we can clean out a big portion of the Asian carp, and feed some poor people at the same time.”

Castiel pulled in a quick breath. “Dean, that's _brilliant_ ,” he praised. “We have to leave before noon, though. I'll have some people cut ice while you and I, Samandriel, Bill and Jo do some fishing. We could have a lot by the time we have to leave.” He kissed the back of Dean's neck. “You are _incredible_.”

Dean blushed, and smiled. “Guess we can stop the campaign to completely eliminate the carp. Maybe we could put a barrier down, and divide the lake. Keep all of the carp on one side, or most of them, anyway.”

“Of course!” Castiel put his hands on Dean's shoulders and squeezed gently. “There's a huge pile of rocks and stones we moved out while building cabins. All we have to do is haul them out and start dumping them into the lake. I'll let it be known that people are free to fish any time that they please, and put people to clearing out an entryway, a road good enough for foot traffic and carts.”

“Maybe send someone into town every few weeks, weather permitting, to bring a load of hungry fishermen back and forth?” Dean asked. “From what I've seen, those carp breed fast.”

“That's an excellent suggestion. Do you know when they actively breed?” Castiel again tilted Dean back to rinse his hair.

“Late spring, early summer, I think,” Dean told him. “At least, that's when they start jumping out of the water. It's fun to fish for them when they're doing that. More challenging.”

“Moving targets. Yes, my alpha nature approves,” Cas said dryly. “It might need said, Dean. Don't run from me.”

“I gotta tell ya, don't be high-tailing it outta here before you get a chance to see what it's like, because if Master Novak has to hunt for you, it's not going to sit right with him,” Dean quoted Bobby, using a gruff, no nonsense voice. “What Bobby said to me my first few minutes onto the estate,” he informed, chuckling.

Castiel once more put his hands on Dean's shoulders. “Dean... Do you remember, word for word, what you hear? Always?”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Don't you?”

He heard Castiel swallow. “Yes, but I'm different,” he said carefully. “Most people don't have eidetic memory. It's _rare_. When people talk about not remembering something, what does that make you think?”

“That they weren't paying attention,” Dean answered. “Sometimes, too, when people are scared, they can't focus enough to know what's going on.”

“That's true,” Castiel said, slightly exhaling. “I can't understand why no one has noticed how incredibly _talented_ , how viable a human being you are.”

Dean leaned back on Castiel, and closed his eyes. “Cas. I've already said more to you than I ever have to anyone else in my entire life,” he confessed. “I didn't want to talk to alpha stink-bags. And, the first few years I was in Sonny's home, I spoke barely at all. Long enough that the kids kept getting younger with me getting older, and I had little to say to them other than 'it's okay' and 'don't cry' or 'I'll watch over you while you sleep, I promise'.”

Cas' breathing hitched. He wound his arms around Dean's chest, drawing him in as close as possible, squeezing Dean into a hug of support that acknowledged Dean's entire, rotten existence prior to Tor-Valen. “And this,” he whispered, “is why the light of your soul shines brighter than the sun. You know what suffering is. Suffering is a crucible. You come out as a strong, honed sword, or you melt and fall apart.”

Dean sagged against Castiel, his eyes shutting. “Melting isn't an option,” he said. “Falling apart is okay. Sometimes, pieces have to get put together differently.”

“Yes,” Castiel agreed, pressing a light and reverent kiss to Dean's head. “Yes, it always helps if some pieces don't go back into the puzzle the same way.”

 

* * *

 

 

“These two pegs we've made keep the prongs wide apart,” Dean told Cas' brother, showing how to moor them in an X. “It's better to have the points wide, because that means more success.” He corrected Samandriel's last peg. “I'm using the bamboo because it's fast and easy to make another spear, and, because bamboo is freakin' sharp. But, it splinters. If you were going to make a spear to last more than a few fish, you'd use willow, or something more forgiving.”

Samandriel accepted a thin bladed knife from Castiel, and began to shave his points. “Why not a net?” He asked.

“Well, this is on-the-go fishing,” Dean explained. “It's _better_ to have a net. You can get a lot of fish quicker that way. But, I didn't have a net when I needed to fish. All I had was a stolen kitchen knife. Bamboo and willow was everywhere, so I made do.” He took the ball of twine that Bill gave him, and showed Samandriel how to place the first bit of string.

Samandriel watched him closely. Dean expected he would, because all forms of hunting were alpha pursuits. He was able to take over when Dean gave him the spear and twine.

“Good, great,” Dean praised. “You're keeping the tension nice and strong. That makes it harder for your spear to shatter up the shaft.”

“It feels wrong to use the fat end of the bamboo,” Samandriel complained. “Why do it this way, Dean?”

“Three reasons,” Dean said. “One, it's the heavier end, and causes more force when striking the fish. Two, the heavier end is stronger. Three, it makes a larger tool.”

“Oh.” Samandriel nodded slightly. “Sensible.”

“Yeah, it's about practicality,” Dean said, smiling. “When you're hungry you just do what works best, and ignore everything else. I'm sure there are people out there that can fish with a damned needle, but I'm not that patient. I want to eat as soon as my belly starts making noise.”

Samandriel kind of half smiled as he worked to make the barbs of his spear smaller and deadlier. “Yeah,” he agreed. “But, what about how you aim? Water causes a distortion.”

“That's why the prongs are spread out,” Dean informed. “Sometimes your best guess is a bad one. More prongs, wide apart, and you might at least wing the fish. That's why, when you strike, you reach down and keep the fish in place while you haul him out of the water.”

“I see...” Samandriel presented his spear. “What now?”

“Now we give it a quick fire-hardening to make it a little more durable.” Dean held Samandriel's spear over their small campfire, turning it at an even pace. “Fire hardens off the green, sappy wood. Doing this means maybe ten strikes. Without it, less than five.”

“Almost fifty percent, or maybe better,” Samandriel said. “Noteworthy difference if you don't have anything else, and you're hungry.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, giving him back the spear. “You don't have to do it this way, though. I showed you how because it's useful. Bill has metal-ended spears he made for this.”

“It's... interesting,” Samandriel said, hefting the spear he'd made and giving it a long look. “Well, maybe the word I need to use is 'honest'.” He stood up and looked pointedly at the spear Dean had made on the first run of showing him what was what. “Show me how you aim.”

“Okay.” Dean hauled himself upward, and took the spear. “You're gonna need to get wet. Sorry. I know the water's cold.”

“I can take it,” Samandriel assured. “Go on. I need to see how you do this your way.”

Dean nodded, and led Samandriel to the water. He waded in, aware of Castiel's watchful eyes. He stood still awhile to trick the fish into thinking he was new scenery, then held his arm up and went still.

It only took two minutes before a huge, fat carp lazily swam into his vision. He brought his pole down quick as lightning, bent and grabbed. He tossed the fish onto the bank, and smiled at the Novaks.

Samandriel slowly waded in to stand beside of Dean. He copied his position, his arm stance, and waited. Dean tracked an enormous carp swimming close, easily nine or ten pounds. “Easy,” he said. “Here he comes. Meat enough for two or three people after you get rid of the bones. That big guy will keep some kid from starving.”

“I see him,” Samandriel said, whispering. “Oh, he's _beautiful_!”

“He's _lunch_ ,” Dean replied. “Got him in your sights?”

“Yeah,” Samandriel said.

“Get him,” Dean ordered.

Samandriel struck, and it was an excellent hit. He pinned that fish clean.

“Yeah!” Dean crouched over to help the boy keep the fish on the spear. “You just fed someone, Samandriel,” he said, showing him the bleeding, flopping fish. “Keep at it, buddy!”

Dean stood at Samandriel's side, his feet and lower legs going numb bit by bit. Together, they speared twenty fish before their spears gave out. Samandriel waded out ahead of Dean slightly, eyes instantly going to his older brother. “Did you see?” He asked.

“I saw.” Castiel smiled a tiny bit. “What you've caught will help people to keep from starving to death, brother. You've done well. I'm proud.”

Samandriel smiled broadly. His blue eyes sparkled with delight. “How many people?” He asked.

Castiel looked toward the ice-lined cart a moment. “You and Dean have caught enough fish to feed four families two days,” he calculated. “Not bad for less than a half hour of fishing.”

Samandriel absolutely grinned. “That feels good,” he said loudly, as if it were a grand achievement. And, Dean suspected it _was_ for the kid. “Could I get a metal-tipped, more permanent spear, and keep going?”

“Of course.” Castiel passed his brother a spear that had an X-shaped end with eight barbs. “One hundred points for thinking of someone other than yourself, and one hundred more for being good at spear fishing.”

Samandriel threw his brother a beaming smile, and waded back out into the frigid water.

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel said quietly. “You talk to him with honesty and warmth. He's responding to it. He likes this, and it might translate in depth when we deliver the food and blankets.”

Dean leaned against Castiel. “Why has it gotten this bad for him, Cas?” He asked. “You're awesome, and I mean that. Why did that skip Samandriel?”

Castiel rolled his eyes upward, and grimaced. “Mother and Father thought he was their best chance at the continuation of the family line,” he answered. “I never showed any interest in it. Samandriel, at least, displayed a healthy sex drive. Rich people want to know their line will continue on.”

“So, they gave him anything he wanted just because he was a horny fucker?” Dean asked, very nearly outraged.

“Not quite as simple as that, Dean, but essentially,” Castiel replied. “If he had everything he wanted he wouldn't have a viable excuse for delaying a family. Think about it. Many people put off children, if they're able, thinking they don't have enough money, or a good environment, for children.”

“Dean!” Samandriel shouted, his pole down in the water, arms rigid. “I need help!”

Dean splashed out to Samandriel with Castiel's knife. Samandriel had pinned a gigantic fish. It had to weigh fifty pounds, and it was fighting. “That guy's going to beat us to death,” Dean said. “You got him?”

“He's wearing me out!” Samandriel said. “Take over so I can cut his head off!”

Dean grabbed the pole and Samandriel took his brother's knife. A noisy, large splash, and Samandriel stood up, panting. A very large fish head bobbed to the surface. “That's a monster,” he panted. “It makes me wonder how many are like him. Is it even safe to be in the water?”

“Ah, they're just creepy when they're big,” Dean said, and Samandriel laughed.

“Dean, I insist you go back to the house and change clothes,” Castiel called out.

Dean waded out with Samandriel, who half dragged the fish corpse with him.

“We'll be leaving in an hour,” Castiel said. “Dress warmly, Dean. Good _gracious_ , Samandriel, that's not a carp, it's a leviathan!”

Dean grinned as he walked back to the house. He changed quickly and ran back, finding everyone getting ready to leave. The cart was wide enough to have everyone sitting beside the driver, so Dean took Castiel's left and Samandriel took the right.

It was a quiet ride, but Dean didn't mind. He watched the cart ahead, which was Bobby and Crowley's. Crowley seemed to be paying a lot of attention to the head groomsman, looking his way often, doing a lot of smiling and talking. Twice, Bobby looked at the tailor for longer than a moment.

“The tailor wants the groomsman,” Samandriel said, not loud enough to be heard by the people ahead or behind them.

“Crowley and Bobby,” Castiel informed. “They're of similar age and social status, so it's not too surprising.”

“You'll allow it?” Samandriel asked.

“I don't own either one of them, Dre,” Castiel said. “They work for me. I provide them a home.”

Samandriel fell quiet and stayed quiet a few miles before saying, “You own Dean.”

Castiel sighed. “What hangs you up about the social system and castes? Tell me. I want to know what things look like to you.”

Samandriel fidgeted a little, kicking his legs. “It's all about money,” he said. “Money is power. When Mother and Father took my money away, I lost power. Then, when you took what power I had socially, my servants left.”

“Your servants were evil,” Castiel told him. “You knew they were. You even threatened to use them against me.”

“I wouldn't have let them really hurt you,” Samandriel protested.

“Samandriel, don't insult me with lies,” Castiel replied.

“Well, you were going to cut my fingers off!” Samandriel blurted. “I'm not like you, Castiel, I can't heal-.”

“Dre,” Castiel said sharply. “This isn't about power. This is about the abuse of power, which you have a history with. You need to funnel your nature into reputable pursuits, and stop looking at what you don't have. Look at what you _do_ have.” He cast his brother a glance. “List five things you're grateful for. Go on.”

Samandriel threw out a big, teenager-like sigh. “I was born into wealth,” he said. “I'm healthy. I got an education. I came out of Mother as an alpha...” He paused. “You haven't kicked me out to die in a gutter somewhere.”

“I love you enough to correct you,” Castiel said. “If I didn't care, Dre, I'd give you an allowance and let you drink, gamble and whore yourself to death.”

“But, Mother and Father-.”

“Our parents aren't our peers,” Castiel cut him off. “They imagined you'd settle down, eventually. This is a distracting world, and many people have trouble adjusting.” Castiel shook his head, frowning as he thought. “It's not easy to do the right thing. And, it wasn't as if our parents got classes on how to raise children. But, you can't blame them for what's wrong with your character. All they had to do was give you life.”

“I didn't ask to be born,” Samandriel muttered. “That's all on them.”

As screwed up as that was, Dean kind of agreed. Smart people were careful about when to have children, if at all. Still, he thought about how he might have turned out with the Novaks as his mom and dad.

“You're very quiet, Dean,” Castiel said.

“Just thinking, Cas,” Dean said. “Wonder what I'd be like if I'd had your parents?”

“You'd be an alpha,” Samandriel muttered, but not unkindly. “You certainly wouldn't know how to spear fish from raw materials, and I'd have probably brained you with a spice jar.”

“You have a good throwing arm,” Dean agreed.

“Didn't mean much against those fans,” Samandriel said. “What's up with that, anyway? I've only seen omegas use fans to entice, not fight.”

“The law says that if I kill an alpha with these fans, it's legal,” Dean informed. “I can't be prosecuted for it. Why not be the best, then?”

“Huh.” Samandriel leaned past his brother to look at Dean. “Have you ever had to? Kill someone, I mean.”

“That's rude, Dre, and not your business,” Castiel said.

“I don't mind, Cas,” Dean told him. “No, I haven't had to,” he answered Samandriel. “I don't particularly want to, either. But, it's good to know I can protect myself.”

Samandriel stared at him a long time, his dark blue eyes taking Dean in. “Do you know why my brother chose you?”

Dean smirked. “Yeah.”

Samandriel frowned. “You're not going to tell me?”

“It's not my place,” Dean said. “That's Cas' business.”

“You're going to marry him!” Samandriel shouted. “You're going to have his babies!”

Crowley turned his head to look at them, and Dean waved. “That doesn't mean being up in his business,” Dean replied, looking at Samandriel again. “Cas has his own stuff to look after, and when he needs me, he says so. I try not to poke my nose into his affairs. Sometimes it's hard, yeah.”

Samandriel sat back and looked up at the sky for awhile. “Holy Father,” he said flatly. “You're _nothing_ like the omegas I've known. Not one damn bit.”

Castiel chuckled richly. “Dean is beautifully his own person,” he said.

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it wasn't for Warkitt3ns, I couldn't have posted this.

The handing out of goods took place at the cathedral Castiel had told Dean about. The people didn't shove or act greedy, just desperate. They were sick and slow. The cold, and their health, kept them from from being pushy. Other things, too, probably. Dean didn't know their whole deal. He only saw that their hope for betterment didn't quite match their various hungers. And, he was moved to deep, abiding pity for their sake. He knew what it was to feel cold. He knew what an aching, empty belly could do to erode hope.

Dean noticed the quality of the clothing this veritable horde wore, was substandard; full of holes, and far too thin. Garments worn until they fell off, basically. He'd have to work hard getting clothing made. Also, the people seemed in need of things to carry their hand-outs. Baskets, bags, pots and pans.

 _ **Fuck**_. These people were all so terribly in need. Broken. Dean's stomach heaved periodically with the stress of keeping a hopeful smile displayed. He wanted to break down, give in to spastic and violent shrieks against the sheer injustice.

Birth designation meant nothing in the lowest caste. The moment to moment needs were the important thing. Warmth, food, shelter, and the desire to be adequately clothed against the elements.

“Dean?” Crowley shouted out from his cart, where he'd sat for two hours giving sick people basic medical care. Working hard, dirty, and quick, too, from what Dean had noticed. “I need your help, Dean!”

Dean put down his stack of blankets and went over quickly. Crowley had a rag-bundled baby in his hands, and a woman on the ground at his feet, far too motionless to be alive. Dean crouched, his heart falling, and felt for a pulse. “She's gone,” he said, rising. “Is that her child?”

The poor, poor thing. Dead from privation and ill use.

Crowley's eyes were wet. “I...”

“Give her to me,” Dean said, giving his friend an out. “You can't stop. Don't stop, Crowley. These people need you.” He carried the child with him to find Wilkes.

“Wilkes,” Dean said. “Come over and look at this woman who died. See if you know her.”

Wilkes obediently followed Dean back to Crowley's cart. He examined the woman's face, and nodded. “Her mam and pap died last winter,” he said. “Baby belongs to some alpha stranger that passed through near the same time. He ain't coming back.” He bent down and picked up the woman. “I'll take her to the pauper's cemetery. There's already a pit dug for this winter's dead.”

Dean pulled his cloak over the whimpering child, his heart aching. The kid wasn't even weened. Wouldn't know his or her mother. Wouldn't even have a proper grave to visit to see her. It wasn't fair, and it wasn't decent.

Dean went inside the cathedral with the child to get it out of the wind. He could do little else to minimize the baby's discomfort, for now.

As Dean looked around at the large, impressive building made of stone and colored windows, he felt a strange sort of peace settling over him. He walked up to the front, and found a bowl of water sitting out on a table. When he tested it with his finger, it proved to be warm. Probably because of a veritable wall of lit candles behind it.

Dean put the baby down on the strangely small table, and carefully unwrapped the filthy cloth from around it. A female child. She didn't have a diaper, but she hadn't soiled her wrap. Maybe seven months old. Dirty and thin. Eyes so blue they didn't look real. Like the sky in summer.

“I know I'm not your mom,” Dean said. “I'm not gonna let anything happen to you, though.” He put her in the water and began gently rubbing off weeks of dirt. “Someone must want a pretty girl like you, don't you worry, sweetheart.”

She smiled at him, and weakly kicked her legs. The water probably felt good.

“I don't know what your momma named you, but I'm gonna call you 'Sky',” he said. “I'll bet you didn't know that this big building was fixed up by my alpha, Sky. He said it was for worshiping God and protecting the poor. Well, no offense, but you're pretty poor.”

Sky giggled, and reached for him. She was so malnourished that the smallest movements cost her great amounts of energy.

Dean grinned even while his heart ached. He washed her head carefully. “Look at that. You're a redhead. Lucky you.” He washed her as best he could, and braced her up one-handed in order to take off his cloak. He wrapped her up in it, knowing it wouldn't matter if she was a little damp, as his cloak was long and thick. “Now we have to find a way to feed you. Maybe that goat's milk Sphinx is getting will make you grow up big and strong, too.”

When Dean turned, he saw Castiel was standing right behind him. His eyes were sad, but also proud. “You baptized her, Dean,” he said quietly. “The most honest baptismal I've ever seen.”

“I don't know what you mean, Cas,” Dean said. “She was dirty, and it was a good way to warm her up a little.”

Castiel nodded. “Let me see her.”

Dean passed the baby over.

Castiel smiled, and touched Sky's cheek. She laughed, startlingly loud. “Oh, how precious she is,” Castiel murmured. “She can't go to the orphanage.”

“Your mom wants more children,” Dean said.

“My mother has Kevin,” Castiel said. He put Sky down on a long, wooden bench, and took off his cashmere long-coat. “Put my coat on, Dean. You and I are going back to the manor early.”

“Bringing Samandriel?” Dean asked.

“My brother is balled up in the bottom of our cart with a blanket over him, crying,” Castiel informed. “Yes, he's going back with us, too. It seems he got a lesson today in how rich he really is.”

In short order they were on their way home, Samandriel driving. He sniffled miserably every so often, wiping his face. Castiel held the baby, talking to her softly.

It seemed they flew home. Castiel hopped out of the cart and walked directly for the back of the manor, Dean and Samandriel following. They came in the kitchen door, and Castiel immediately went toward Ellen. “Ellen,” he said. “Would you like a baby?”

Dean groaned, and slapped his forehead. “Cas, you don't ask like that,” he whispered as Ellen gaped at them all.

“A baby?” Ellen wiped her hands, and approached.

“Her mother died at Crowley's feet, and she has no father,” Castiel said. “I didn't want her going to the orphanage. You once mentioned to me that you were sorry you couldn't have more children...” He handed Sky over. “You're the best person I know for raising children, and Bill is beyond reproach.”

Ellen peeled a flap of the cloak away to reveal the smiling, beautiful baby, and her face _melted_. “You give her right to me,” she said quickly. “I'll take care of this girl.”

“Her name is Sky,” Castiel said happily, smiling.

“Of course her name is Sky,” Ellen said. “Oh, Bill is going to _love_ being a father again. And Jo will be so _happy_ to get a sister. Our house will soon have the sound of running feet once more...” Ellen's eyes welled up with tears. “Thank you, Castiel.” She clutched the baby close, and gave a little sob. “I need to go and get bottles ready, make a place, find Jo's crib...”

“Go,” Castiel said. “Dean and I will finish supper. Or, I'll take orders from Dean, as I have no idea how to cook.” He kissed Ellen's forehead. “Congratulations, you're a new mother.”

Ellen practically floated out the back door. Castiel laughed a little bit, and sat down. “Well, that felt good,” he announced. “I guess it's back to practicality now, though. What can I do to help with supper?”

Dean wiped his face, and started checking pots and pans, aware of Samandriel just barely making a controlled fall to sit at his brother's feet. “She's got venison roasts, boiled potatoes and carrots already going. The bread's baking...” Dean checked the cold storage. “Let's cut up some apples. I'll show you how to make pie. Bill loves apple pie, and it would be a nice way to round off the news he's going to get.”

“He already knows,” Castiel said. “He saw you take Sky, and told me that if you didn't want the baby, he did. That's how I knew where you'd gone.” He reached down and patted Samandriel's shoulder. “Dre, are you all right?”

“No,” Samandriel said. “I'm not. Those _people_ , Castiel...” His breathing hitched on a sob. “Why did I never notice them before? They're in every town and city in the world, and _I never saw them_!” Balling up a little bit, he pushed his face against Castiel's knee, shivering. “That woman _died_. I _saw_ her go down. She died, and the baby would also have died, if you and Dean weren't there. All the blankets, food, and fish, don't mean _spit_ if they don't have shelter or medicine! They're dressed in rags, barefoot in winter!”

“Yes, I know,” Castiel said gently, stroking his brother's hair. “We do what we can, Dre.”

“I've wasted more money on silk cravats than they've ever even seen in their lives,” Samandriel whispered. “I feel so... _filthy_! I thought Mother and Father were throwing money away when they donated to charity!”

Dean put the things out for making pie, and closed his eyes a moment. Samandriel did have a heart, after all. That had to make Cas feel so much better.

“Why does he allow this?” Samandriel asked. “Why is this part of his plan?”

“I don't know,” Castiel said in response to the strange questions. “I wish I could tell you, Dre.”

 

* * *

 

 

The ballroom in the east wing of the estate suited Dean's purposes very well. He had bales of wool already carded, a donation to the cause from Roche Dairy. He had seven spinning wheels at his disposal, on loan from various people living on the estate. Some of their owners were already at work, older women who knew their business. Dean's knitting class consisted of Castiel, Samandriel, Bobby, Kara, and fifteen of St. Addam's old servants, as well as twenty of Tor-Valen's regular staff.

Crowley had set up in a corner, making cloaks and coats. Castiel had hired a shoemaker, and his abrasive personality wasn't conducive to Crowley's snappy sadness. Watching a woman starve to death right in front of him had splintered his nerves.

“You buggering blowhard,” Crowley hissed at the man. “Do I tell you how to make shoes? Mind your fucking business!”

Castiel bowed his head and bit his lip to stop a smile. “Glasser,” he called out. “Leave my tailor be, please.”

“He does his stitching all wrong,” Glasser protested.

“I'm not paying you to pick faults. I'm paying you to make shoes,” Castiel said firmly. “Seven hundred pairs of them, actually. So, you don't have time to watch what Crowley's doing. I want this done by the end of next week.”

“Son of a bitch,” Bobby exclaimed suddenly. “That's the fifth time I've had to tear out a row!”

Samandriel was the best of all of them, excepting Dean himself. He'd listened to every word Dean said, put all his focus into learning. Dean thought it was due to taking poverty as a personal affront. He sat right beside Samandriel, giving him praise as often as possible while trying not to be obvious about it.

“Cas,” Dean said. “What about giving the kids moccasins, too? They stretch to fit as the kid grows. If they wore two pairs of them, it would be almost as good as getting hard shoes. I mean, they grow out of those fast.”

“Moccasins?” Glasser said, his tone resounding with horror. “Peasant shoes?”

“Who do you _think_ we're kitting?” Samandriel asked, angry and loud. “If they needed shod like horses, I'd make it happen. We don't need your opinion!”

Castiel smiled proudly. “Make moccasins, too, Glasser,” he ordered.

“How many pairs, sir?” Glasser asked, sniffing in disdain. “What sizes? I'll need a lot more leather.”

“Sir,” Bobby said. “Jo has about a thousand rabbit pelts in storage. Fur is insulating. It'd just be a matter of sewing them with the fur turned inside.”

“Excellent, Bobby.” Castiel nodded toward the door. “Go and ask her. Take a break.”

Bobby left gratefully.

“Quit humming!” Crowley shouted at Glasser. “You're out of tune and out of breath!” He punctuated his disgust by throwing a lump of tailor's chalk at the man. Glasser dodged, and the chalk shattered against the far wall.

“Glasser, set up on the other side of the room,” Castiel ordered. “Crowley, here.” He tossed his hip flask over. “You drink that.”

“He _was_ out of tune,” Samandriel muttered to Dean. “Gaslighting old bastard.”

“What's gaslighting mean?” Dean asked.

“Subtle, persistent sabotage that slowly wrecks someone,” Samandriel explained. “It's usually done by people close to you, or, people with the means to regularly be close. I don't know the origin of the term.” He finished a sweater and threw it onto the pile at his feet. In two hours he'd made five sweaters, which was amazing. “It's also called 'omega warfare', because it's covert. Sneaky.”

Dean grinned. “Because, omegas have to attack on the sly?”

“Usually. Most of them aren't like you, Dean.” Samandriel shrugged. “But, maybe that's because of how they're treated, not how they're born. Castiel told me about the school you come from. I'd like to see it.”

“I wouldn't let you out of my sight,” Dean said, being honest.

“Yeah. I know.” Samandriel didn't defend himself. He didn't sound upset, either.

Castiel reached over, grabbing Samandriel's choke chain. He took it off his brother and dropped it right on the floor. “Don't ever make me put it on you again,” he said softly.

Samandriel lowered his head exactly as an omega would do when contrite. “Yes, brother,” he said.

Dean let out a shaky breath, and furiously resumed knitting. There were so many different kinds of tension in the room. He showed Samandriel a new stitch, a tight one, and watched in amazement as the young man just took off with it. “Wow,” he said. “You Novak men are something else. It usually takes _weeks_ to get a guy able to learn this stuff.”

“I _can't_ have poor people in my new home,” Samandriel said, hunching over. “There's no reason why _everyone_ can't be warm, fed and sheltered. All it takes is for people with too much to give something away.”

Kara put her knitting down, bursting into tears. Holding her hands to her face, she fled the room.

Samandriel watched her go, his face all confusion and sudden worry. “Is she all right?”

“Kara's family starved to death on St. Addams' land,” one of the new maids informed quietly.

Castiel nodded at Samandriel. “Maybe you'd like to see to her?”

Samandriel looked torn. He wanted to knit for his personal crusade, but the girl's sudden flight had shaken him. He dropped his new work and stood up, though, choosing to attack the pain that was so close. He sped after Kara.

“Ultimately, your brother's transformation is his own success,” Crowley said, looking at Cas. “But, it wouldn't have happened without you. Bravo, sir.”

As plainly and sincerely said, Crowley's words washed through the room. A lot of the staff murmured their agreement, looking directly at the master of the house.

Castiel smiled, just a little. “I couldn't have done it without Dean and his caring heart,” he said.

Dean blushed, and put his head down.

 

* * *

 

For twelve days the knitting circle, Crowley and Glasser included, toiled. Twelve days with most everyone involved being so tired, so sore, that they fell asleep any spare moment. Twice, Dean fell asleep while working. When eating, Dean often heard the sound of someone passing out at the table in the servant's dining room. It was a thumping sound and the shaking of crockery, usually, and then voices of concern.

Cas seemed to fare the best of anyone, and kept Dean awake long enough to eat in the evening. Patiently, he fed him by hand, gently shaking him awake sometimes. When the meal concluded, Dean was given a glass of wine, then carried to bed.

Sphinx grew and grew while Dean wasn't watching. Now she was so heavy he could feel her on the bed. Castiel told him she'd grown to half her expected size, and not to worry. “She's not a mutant,” he'd said. “Be glad she and Ruto made friends, and quit fretting.”

Indeed, Ruto hardly ever left Dean's side now. Always there, silent and watchful, the dog gave Dean so much eye contact that it almost made him nervous. Such quiet intensity wasn't natural, Dean would swear that. The dog frequently made facial expressions that matched the mood of what was being said around him.

Creepy.

“How's Sky doing?” Dean asked no one in particular. With this many people sitting around, knitting, someone had to know. Hell, Dean knew more about these forty-some people than he'd known about his own parents, by now.

“She's healthy and happy,” Gretta, a regular maid said, smiling. “Ellen's new mastiff pup and Sky spend a lot of time together. That dog's going to grow up protecting her.”

“I love my puppy,” someone called out. Dean thought it might be Kara. She'd taken to sitting near the back with Samandriel.

Tired, good-natured laughter, rippled through the room.

“I want everyone to quit in an hour,” Castiel announced. “This will have to be enough for now. At this rate we'll all wreck our carts. So, tomorrow is a day of sleeping and eating. The next day is fishing, and gathering up more supplies to load. That morning after, we'll deliver.”

The collective sighing created a breeze in the room.

“Cas, do we have any people that know basket weaving?” Dean asked.

“I can,” a young girl said. Dean didn't know her name yet. She didn't talk much, but she worked steadily. “I know five weaves. My mother... She used to make baskets for a living.”

“I'd like to learn,” Dean told her. “I noticed these people we're helping don't have much to carry their stuff in.”

“I'll teach you, sir,” she said.

“It's Dean,” Dean corrected, smiling. “What's your name?”

“Aria,” she said shyly.

“That's pretty,” Dean said.

After they broke ranks, Crowley approached Dean and Castiel. He waited until everyone left, then shut the door. “Dean, you be careful with that girl,” Crowley said. “Trauma doesn't even begin to touch her problems. Her mother's shop was right beside of mine, and the things I heard...” He shook his head. “Let's just say no one mourned when her father died.”

Castiel cocked his head at Crowley. “I wonder how many orphans we have here.”

“A few,” Crowley said.

They kept looking at each other.

Dean suddenly understood. Crowley had killed Aria's father, probably with witchcraft, and Castiel was letting him know that he knew. Still, he wasn't censuring him, or acting at all disapproving.

“I'll be careful,” Dean promised.

Castiel and Dean went upstairs. Dean collapsed onto the bed and instantly got Sphinx in his space. She purred, cuddling up to him, sniffing him often. He buried his face in her fur, letting out a long breath. Ruto jumped up for settling at Dean's feet.

“My lovely omega, surrounded by his adoring fans,” Castiel said, laughter in his drawl. “Bestir yourself in a half hour to go through your mail.”

“I have mail?”

“Yes, but it can wait a few minutes. It's only a gift package from my mother.” Castiel smoothed down Dean's growing hair. “Crowley will cut this mess, if you ask him.”

“Is it bad?” Dean asked.

“No, I'm teasing.”

Dean shut his eyes and fell asleep. When he awoke it was because he heard Castiel speaking to Crowley.

“You're making a lot of them angry, is what I'm saying,” Crowley said. “They consider these poor people slave labor. By giving the poor what they need, you're taking them out of the influence of the landed alphas. Don't get me wrong. I support you. I just want you to be aware that you're making enemies.”

“I appreciate the warning, Crowley, I do,” Castiel said. “And, I'm glad you're on my side. Whatever you do, don't get caught with your... _extracurricular_ activities.”

“Pffft,” Crowley deflected. “I'm old and wily. But, that's not the point. The point is, you need a wall of hired muscle in between you and these aggressive, arrogant toffs. Maybe you don't need representation, but you should have it anyway just for the sake of appearances. Also, that extra measure of safety for Sleeping Beauty over there.”

“I'll take your advice,” Castiel promised. “I'll have Mother send me some of her personal guards.”

“Oh, that should work,” Crowley said, chuckling. “Tra, darling. I'm off to sleep.”

“Later, Crowley,” Castiel said.

Dean fell back asleep the moment all the interesting, covert conversation stopped. He awoke later to the feel of Castiel's hand skimming down his bare arm, the touch light and reverent.

“Dean...”

“Hey, Cas,” Dean sighed, rolling onto his back and dislodging Sphinx. “Time for mail?”

“Yes.” Castiel handed him a large box wrapped in brown paper and tied with thick twine.

Dean sat up and accepted a knife to cut the paper and twine. He saved Naomi's address, tucking it into his shirt pocket. The box, made of a fragrant wood, was so nice that he sniffed it several times. He traced the carvings on it, seeing the Novak crest and the figure of a man with wings, impaling a large serpent on a long sword. “Who's this?” He pointed.

“His name is Michael. He's punishing the Evil One,” Castiel told him. “Michael protects all of humanity. He hears prayers directed to him, too.”

“Lotta work for one guy,” Dean commented. He opened the box. It had velvet covering the contents, a peculiar and pretty shade of green. He thought he might save it, and carefully pulled it out of the way. Under it were three letters, a smaller box, and a satin, drawstring bag. The letters were from Naomi, Zachariah, and Kevin.

He opened the smaller box. Inside, was a ring. The metal glowed in the lamp light, but not as brightly as the gem shined.

“She gave you a ring,” Castiel murmured. “I wonder why?”

“It's pretty,” Dean said.

“It ought to be,” Castiel replied. “It's a flawless, brilliant-cut, two carat diamond sitting on a platinum band. It's worth is enormous.”

“It catches the light.” Dean watched it sparkle. Castiel's words didn't mean much to him. “I'll open her letter so we can find out why she sent it,” he said, carefully tearing the envelope.

“Dean, that is a personal letter to you, from my mother,” Castiel said slowly.

“I don't hold any secrets over you, Cas.” Dean pulled the heavy cloth content paper out, and cleared his throat. Wow, Naomi had some ornate handwriting. All loops and swirls.

“ _My dearest Dean, I hope my letter finds you in good health and high spirits,”_ he read aloud. _“You'll be pleased to know that all of us are well. Kevin is prospering under the private tutelage of a Mr. Alexander Wright, one of the best teachers I know.”_ Dean paused to smile. Yeah, that was good. Kevin had a smart brain, and it needed exercise.

“ _Dear, dear Kevin,”_ he went on. _“He is so intelligent and sweet. I want to cover him from the rest of the world and preserve him from all harm. As that isn't possible, I've insisted he begin his fan work. He grumbled a lot, I won't pretend otherwise, but I made it very clear that I want him able to defend himself.”_

Dean looked up at Castiel, suddenly so peeved he couldn't contain it. “I ragged on that kid endlessly,” he complained. “He wouldn't learn!”

“You are not my mother,” Castiel said, enunciating each word fully.

Dean grinned. “Yeah. I see your point.” He lifted the letter up again.

“ _Castiel recently sent word that it's safe to return to Tor-Valen,_ ” he read aloud. _“I'm very relieved. It seems you and my son make a good team, dear. I can't wait to see the new and improved Samandriel. Happily, we will all be back for an extended visit before Christmas. Expect us to stay at least a month.”_

Dean eyeballed Castiel. “You had the finger strength to write your mom? I can barely hold a spoon right now, with all the damned knitting.”

“It's fortunate you only need hold a spoon when I'm not here,” Castiel commented airily.

Dean rolled his eyes, and Castiel chuckled.

“ _In this package you'll find a ring,”_ Dean read. _“I had it made for my beloved Cassandra, and have kept it on my dresser, or upon a chain around my neck, since she died.”_

Oh. Naomi's true love. She'd given him the ring once worn by the woman she'd never forget. Dean's lower lip wobbled. He felt tears welling up. He forced himself to keep going. _“It should be with another person precious to me,”_ he read. _“It does no good unless it's being worn. I want you to wear it, admire it's beauty, and consider it a sign of my love and favor. But, dear, if it's too heavy for you, I want you to sell it, and use the money how you see fit.”_

“Oh, Mother,” Castiel said lowly. “Wise and turbulent, and deep like ocean water, but giving _such_ a choice. I'm sorry, Dean.”

“No, it's okay,” Dean hastened to say. “She's helping me, Cas. And, getting rid of something that's too heavy for _ **her**_.”

Castiel breathed out, and nodded.

“ _Zachariah has also decided to send you a piece of the family's jewelry,”_ Dean read aloud. _“Like me, he wanted to give you something of great value, and not only of the earthly riches. He feels the piece will be safe with you, and I agree. You are a Novak now, Dean, dear. I don't downplay the fact you had your own family, but once you're a Novak, you're a Novak. Get used to it.”_

“Oh, she comes on like a charging elephant,” Castiel bemoaned, holding a hand over his eyes. “Dean, you should know that both of my parents are Novaks. My mother is my father's fifth cousin. I'm inbred.”

“Can't argue with it with you as the example,” Dean joked. “Seriously, though?”

“Yes.” Castiel lowered his hand to look at him. “Often, the only way two mated alphas can have children at all is when selectively inbreeding. That is why a quality omega was so important to my parents, for me. Fresh blood untouched by the name Novak. On the plus side...”

“What?” Dean asked when Castiel didn't finish.

“Well...” Castiel moved his lips with an emphatic little 'smack'. “I'm not tooting my own horn, but facts are facts. My bloodline _could_ produce splendid offspring, but not with a Novak. I _had_ to be paired with an omega. It couldn't be done another way.”

Dean slowly smiled. “We haven't even tied the knot, or _your_ knot, and I'm totally the savior of the Novak line, aren't I?”

“Yes, you clever thing,” Castiel said, blushing a tiny bit. “You see? Not only is your blood exceptional, but you are _yourself_. My mother would eat ground glass if it meant keeping you.”

Dean let his hands drop, and he sagged backward with the force of his unmanly giggling. “Oh, _shit_ ,” he said. “That's... That's so... I don't have the words.”

Castiel gave a silent laugh. He tapped the letter. “What else?”

Dean straightened up and took a bracing breath. _“So, Dean, my sweet, expect us to arrive the week before Christmas. You may know it by the pagan name of Yule. Zach reminds of this while leaning over and spying upon me. I will repay his ill manners by hanging over him the entire time he writes to you. Until we meet, give my love to Castiel, who is my shining star, and give my love and approval to Samandriel, who tries to do better. Lastly, take my love for yourself, Dean. When I think of you, I always smile. Naomi.”_

Dean folded the letter back up and carefully tucked it into the envelope. “A moment of complete honesty, Cas,” he said.

“Okay,” Castiel agreed.

Dean held the letter to his lips a second, because it was so precious. “I love your mother,” he said. “I respect your father, but it's different. Your mom is strong, bold, and kind. _Just like you_. You take after her. You're both so smooth-sailing and calm, until wind hits you back-sail, and then you both turn into something else, something like lightning.”

Castiel's smile slowly took his face and transformed his beauty into golden sunrise. “That you would love my mother is nothing more than all I could want,” he said. “If it wasn't blasphemy, I would worship her. Nearly everything I do is with an eye to her approval.”

Nodding, for Dean still loved his own mother exactly that way, Dean gently swiped his thumb over Castiel's cheekbone. “Nothing in the world like Mom,” he said. “You understand that so well that you gave poor little Sky the best mother you've got on hand. You didn't give her your own, because you wanted Kevin to reap the benefit of Naomi's complete attention. Thank you for that, Cas.”

They ignored the rest of the box, mutually and silently agreeing to curl up together on the bed and breathe each other's air. Dean slid Cassandra's ring onto his right third finger as a vow of family acceptance. And, they both watched it sparkle in the lamp light until falling asleep.

 

* * *

 

Dean awoke in the early hours of the morning, finding he and Castiel had shed their clothing at some point. Cas, curled around him from behind, had a magnificent erection. Sleepy, the alpha lazily thrust against him, giving a quiet little sigh.

Enclosed in Castiel's arms, feeling Castiel's breath on the back of his neck, Dean pressed back to meet him. It was instinct. And, he felt his omega gland throb, waking up, wanting to work.

This time, he'd let it.

Dean lifted his leg and let Castiel's large cock slide into place in between. He was long and thick, and poked Dean's balls. Dean carefully shifted them higher, using his palm to keep them in place. He felt himself getting hard, too. Just the _thought_ of Cas fucking his legs and crotch, had him leaking slick.

“Dean,” Castiel groaned, pushing. “Dean, the _scent_ of you...” His cock slid in the hot slick. He unwound an arm, pushed it between them, and traced Dean's slippery hole with a finger. “I'm not made of stone, Dean,” he said, panting.

“Who asked you to be?” Dean murmured, shoving back. “Fuck me, Cas. Just like this. Please.”

Castiel made a strangled sound, and met him. He clamped a hand on Dean's hip, that other arm holding him tightly to him. He was so strong that Dean couldn't move a bit on his own.

Slowly, Castiel began to thrust. “Oh, Dean,” he whispered against Dean's neck. “So good.” He dropped his hand from Dean's hip, and gently took his cock in hand. “Beautiful. Feel this with me?”

Dean let out a moan. The hot, silken slide between his legs made his gland swell massively. The slick poured from him, just like the steady leak from his cock as Castiel pumped him. Those long, strong fingers held him exactly right, twisting on the upstroke. Amazing.

Dean hadn't ever felt anything like this. Being _asked_ to come. Persuaded. It tore him up inside with gratitude, making the lust sharper. His asshole flexed, begging, and he wanted so much to have it filled. Let it grab onto Cas' big cock and milk him dry, get the knot he needed, get locked into place and _bred_.

Cas scraped him with his teeth, so close to the mating bite that Dean's entire body went supine. Limp, he let Castiel move him at will, loving the alpha's strength.

“You're enough to destroy a man,” Castiel growled, levering them upright. He kept Dean on his knees, legs folded under, and fucked into the junction of his body, never ceasing the pumping of his fist on Dean's dick. He had an arm around Dean's chest, holding him in place on his lap. “You make my brain fly right out the window, Dean.”

“Cas, oh Cas, don't stop,” Dean pleaded. This was perfect, feeling all that strength behind him, enclosing him. Feeling Cas' cock, now dripping with slick, and hearing the wet strikes of their bodies meeting. Getting his swollen flesh hot and hard, his pushed-up balls growing heavier and heavier. “Oh, Cas, I want your knot!”

Castiel's body shuddered violently. “I'd _love_ to give it to you,” he said, his voice harsh and shaking. “You're so loose and open, Dean. I could slide into you, bury my cock in your perfect little ass.” He fucked Dean harder, demanding, working Dean's dick hard and fast. “Hold you down on me and make that knot,” he growled. “You beautiful, beautiful man.”

Dean cried out like he was dying as Castiel bit down on his neck. His body coiled upward and locked as he shot. Over and over, he came with every upward wringing of Cas' hand. “Cas-ti-el!”

“Oh!” Castiel pounded hard and released, his come shooting out from between Dean's legs. “Ah! Dean!” He bit Dean again, and again, never drawing blood, but Dean wouldn't have cared anyway. That knot swelling between his legs was all that mattered.

Dean sagged forward and broke free. He turned, looking at his panting alpha. Every muscle in him bulged, every vein swollen with rushing blood. He was gorgeous, his messy hair sticking straight up, and his blue eyes burning.

Dean slid a finger down Cas' still rock-hard shaft, looking him in the eyes. “May I, Cas?”

“Whatever you want, Dean,” Castiel vowed, his voice low and rough.

Dean curled his fingers around that knot, and squeezed.

“Ah!” Cas arched backward like a bow, and shot. Come _painted_ Dean. Splattered on his chest shockingly violent.

Mouth dry, omega gland still working as hard as it could, Dean felt a deep, deep thrill. He put his first finger and thumb behind the knot and held on, mimicking how his ass would hold onto Castiel.

Cas groaned and went still, panting hard with his eyes shut. “That... That feels...”

“Yeah,” Dean whispered. His alpha had never popped his knot in anyone. He'd admitted it. This was as intimate as he'd ever felt it, and Dean felt proud to give it to him. He gently massaged Cas' knot, and Cas came again, moaning, back and neck arched.

“Holy God, do they teach you that?” Cas asked, body trembling in after-spasms. “What's next, a cock leash?”

Dean laughed. “Kinky.” He had mercy, and released the pressure gently. Cas might come a dozen times or only twice, but he was shaking like he'd fall apart. “Nobody taught me. I know from how my own ass behaves how your cock wants to behave.”

Castiel straightened his back. His gaze rested on Dean's chest. Dean smelled alpha satisfaction, even a touch of pride. Some regret, too.

“I've made a mess of you,” Cas said, and that explained the regret.

“I think we've effectively ruined the bedding,” Dean replied. “What time is it?”

“About four,” Cas informed, not even looking at the timepiece on the wall.

They got up, and Dean stripped the bed. He wiped off with a pillow case. He put on some clothes, feeling Cas' eyes upon him. “I'll go wash these,” he told his alpha.

“I hate that you have to go into the cold night to clean up this bedding,” Castiel grumbled. “I want you in here.”

Dean smiled. “Demanding,” he teased.

“You don't kick out the giver of orgasms into the night with your semen covered sheets,” Castiel said. He put on a pair of trousers, and one of Dean's shirts. “I'm going with you. We both made this mess, and we can both clean it up.”

Dean didn't argue.

They put on boots and cloaks, and left the room. The quiet, dark house felt warm and hushed. They crept through it and out the back with Ruto tagging along. Dean spared a moment to the idea that they'd had sex in front of their pets, and why wasn't that freaky?

In the laundry house, Dean checked the boiler and found it had warm water in it. He added some wood to the fire, then dumped everything into a large sink. There, he sorted sheets from blankets, and divided them up. He caught sight of Cas peering around, and grinned. “You've never been in here,” he said.

“Not once,” Castiel admitted. “I tried to enter one day, and Ellen blocked me.”

“The master of the house doesn't need to know how his lawn shirts are rendered white,” Dean said, chuckling. “We wait on you because we want to, Cas. Some people are worthy of it. You happen to be.” He pointed to a rocking chair. “Keep me company. I'll do this.”

“I can't be of any help?” Castiel sat down and began to rock.

“You can help me wring the blankets,” Dean promised. “That usually takes two people anyway.” He pumped warm water into the sink with the sheets, a low level, because he needed hotter water for the blankets. Adding a small amount of soap shavings, he took the laundry plunger and briskly agitated the water.

“Dean,” Cas said when Dean paused to let the sheets soak. “You made me climax in about five minutes. I'm embarrassed. I promise not to make a habit of being quick.”

Dean thought he understood why Cas believed this was important. Taking time meant caring, and a quick fuck meant you were paying for it, or something. But, Dean hadn't been timing Castiel. Far from it. Everything had happened at a frantic pace because they really wanted each other. Their bodies were ideally paired. Call it what you want.

“I loved it, Cas,” Dean told him softly, turning to meet his eyes. “Waking up with your cock pushed up against me, was good. And, I asked you, didn't I?”

“Yes, but I would love to touch you at leisure,” Castiel said. “I'm only afraid that if I do, I'll go too far. I feel things very deeply.”

Dean nodded his understanding. He filled the sink that held the blankets, and agitated them awhile. “It'll be lawful and official soon, Cas,” he assured him. “Then, there won't be anymore of this careful crap. It's going to be so nice to learn what you like in bed.”

Cas joined him at the sinks and helped him wring everything of as much soap as possible. They rinsed and wrung again, and then hung the sheets on the pegs. Dean collected new, soft and dry bedding, and they carried it back to the house.

Once in the bedroom, he and Cas made a new, clean arrangement of bed clothes. It reeked of them in here, even after an hour, pungent and lovely. It made Dean want to relax, caused a looseness in his spine and muscles. He drew back the sheets and blankets, wiped his feet, and got back into the bed just as the sun broke the horizon. He could tell by the strengthening of the light through the windows.

“Sleep with me, Cas?” He asked.

“Dean, I'd like nothing more than to share this bed with your for days,” Castiel said. He cleaned his feet, and got in with Dean, instantly pulling him as close as possible. “Where would you like to go after our linkage? I could take you anywhere.”

Dean smiled against his fresh pillow. “The boat house,” he said. “I want to be in a small space with only you, Cas.”

Castiel nuzzled Dean's nape. “It shall be done,” he vowed.

 

* * *

 

 

A day of sleeping and eating whenever he wanted, made Dean feel a lot better. The next morning, they loaded up their carts again and headed back to town, Samandriel driving. The young man hadn't said much, a very adult and pained sobriety hanging over him always.

Cas took Dean's hand. Their gloves warmed them, but hand holding felt good. Dean smiled at Cas sideways.

Samandriel sighed. “I thought you two were kind of nauseating at first,” he said. “Now, it's like I want to smile when I see you together. I'm turning into a sap. Mother and Father will think I'm possessed, or something.”

“They won't,” Castiel assured him. “They'll think your demon has been cast out, instead.”

Samandriel nodded. “I suppose. Is that even possible? Could I have been possessed?”

“No,” Cas said. “Self-possession is more of a danger. No demon could enter you, Dre.”

“What's a demon?” Dean asked.

“An evil spirit,” Samandriel said. “Created by Lucifer, or, a human soul that has descended into Hell for eternal punishment.”

Dean had nothing for these concepts to grab onto, except for the carving on the gift box sent to him by Naomi. “Is Lucifer the Evil One?”

“Yes, Dean,” Cas said.

“And, Michael is the one who keeps an eye on him,” Dean remembered. “He watches out for all of human kind.”

“Yes,” Cas said again. “But, Lucifer is clever. Humanity wasn't always able to breed the way it does now. The Evil One is responsible for this change in dynamics.”

“Lucifer and Michael are both angels,” Samandriel added.

“An angel is a messenger of God, a servant of great power, a dispatcher of God's justice and wrath. They are beautiful without exception,” Dean said, quoting Naomi. “That's what your mom said, anyway.”

Samandriel cast him a quick look. “Did you just quote her word for word?”

“Dean has a perfect memory,” Castiel explained.

“Wow.” Samandriel stared ahead at the road. “That would have been so handy for schooling.”

“It's not all that great,” Dean said. “I can remember everything, not just the good stuff. Only time it failed me was when Dad took me from home. I guess fear caused enough of a freak-out to work on me that way.”

“You don't remember any of it?” Samandriel asked. “Why were you so scared?”

“I'd just finished my first heat, and he went crazy that I was an omega,” Dean said. “He drugged me, threw me into a sack, and took me to the capital to have me registered, then dumped me at Sonny's omega house.”

Cas' jaw clenched. “Heaven help your father if I ever encounter him,” he said.

“He was just ignorant, Cas,” Dean said, shrugging. “Didn't know what to do. Horrified I was a breeder. Don't waste your emotion on him.”

“How can you be so forgiving?” Samandriel asked, eyes wide. “That was awful, just awful!”

“I've had fourteen years to think about what he did,” Dean said to him. “Sonny kept me busy, fed, and sheltered. I was enough of a kid that I got over it, you know?”

“He took you from your home, poisoned you, stuffed you into a bag, and threw you away!” Samandriel protested, waving an arm around. “I'm a bratty little fucker, and my parents didn't do that to me! Castiel didn't do that to me!”

Dean smiled. “You're not a bratty little fucker,” he corrected. “Not anymore. You're an alpha, Samandriel. You're more valuable than an omega, in the eyes of the law, and just about everyone else.”

Samandriel's wild-eyed look of outrage softened into sadness as Dean watched. He swallowed hard, and gave Cas the reins before turning and looking dead at Dean. “Dean,” he said firmly. “Your father shouldn't have abandoned you. No child should be abandoned because of how he presents. It's _wrong_. I've been shitty to omega adults, but never to an omega child. It sickens me to know there are homes for people like you. There shouldn't be a _need_ for them.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, I know. But, this is so far into my past. If I'd held on to that anger and fear all these years, I'd be a mess right now. I had to let something go, so I dropped it, and just tried to be the best person I could be. Anything else would have done me in.”

Samandriel blinked three times. “Oh my God,” he whispered. “You are _exactly_ what my brother needs. Why didn't I see that?”

“Probably my stupid green eyes,” Dean joked, winking at the smiling Castiel.

Castiel chuckled, and gave the reins back to Samandriel. “ _So_ stupid,” he agreed, grinning.

When they reached the cathedral Dean saw with satisfaction that many of the people were draped in the blankets given to them on the first trip. A cheer went through the crowd as they saw sweaters were being given, and shoes. It only took minutes to get rid of two week's worth of hard knitting and sewing.

“Dean, Samandriel, come with me,” Castiel ordered. “There's someone I want you to meet.” He began walking for the cathedral.

Dean had to admire the building. It was enormous, arches everywhere, and warmer than it should be for it's size. “I love these colored windows,” Dean whispered, thinking of the ones Cas had made for the manor.

“Stained glass,” Samandriel whispered back. “I used to know how it's made, but I've forgotten. I think I drank a lot of my brains away.”

Dean smiled at him. “Really?”

Samandriel nodded with a wry smirk on his lips. “I'm not proud of it, but I can't remember much of the last seven years.”

“How old are you?” Dean asked.

“Twenty-two,” Samandriel informed. “Yes. I started drinking at fifteen. Disgusting, huh?”

“You'll do better,” Dean told him. “You already are.”

Cas stopped them. “Father Sean?” He called out.

“Here,” A man's voice called out, and the man himself exited a oddly constructed little cubicle of some kind. “Oh, hello, Master Novak!” He walked toward them, moving fast for an older guy.

Cas smiled very warmly at the white haired man. “Father, I'd like you to meet my bonded, Dean Winchester, and my brother, Samandriel.”

“Pleased,” Father Sean said, bowing his head to each of them. Dean could smell no scent on him, and figured him for a beta.

“Father Sean organizes worship and charity,” Castiel explained to them. “He lives here so that the church can be open all the time. He is a very good man, and I wanted you both to know his face. If you are ever in need of shelter, if something dire happens, you may always find help here, with Father Sean.”

Father Sean smiled. “You'll give me an ego,” he chided mildly. “I'm happy to dedicate myself to helping the unfortunate. There is no greater cause.”

Samandriel nodded solemnly. “I've only just discovered this,” he said lowly. “Would you be willing to allow me to aid you?”

“I would be very pleased,” Father Sean said, smiling again. “I could use a young, strong alpha around here. You wouldn't believe how heavy things have gotten for me over the years.”

Samandriel turned to Castiel. “Brother, may I?”

“This will be hard, humbling work, Dre,” Cas warned, his eyes serious. “Father Sean has a vineyard, a large garden for the community, keeps livestock, and does all of his own maintenance.”

“I'm not afraid to work hard, not anymore,” Samandriel said lowly. “Let me work off some of my sins, _please_.”

Castiel nodded, and patted his brother on the shoulder. “I will send a bed here for you,” he relented. “I'll come back to see how you fare.”

“Bring Dean when you come,” Samandriel said quickly. “Please,” he added.

“I'll come, too,” Dean said.

Castiel and Dean left. Dean took a last look back, watching Father Sean escorting Samandriel toward the back of the cathedral. “Is he going to be okay, Cas? This is a huge change, and a quick one.”

“My brother has found a cause, and I wish him every chance to explore it, worthy as it is,” Castiel said, taking Dean's elbow. “He might find it difficult to have such privation, but I'm confident that if he truly means to help, he will.”

They got on their cart and headed for home. Dean leaned on Cas, enjoying his warmth. He thought about Father Sean' weird clothes and collar. “What was he wearing?” He asked.

“Father Sean? It's called a cassock,” Castiel explained. “When a priest puts on a cassock, it means he's getting ready to do God's work. Father Sean... I've never seen him wear anything else. I wonder if he sleeps in it, I truly do.”

“It looked heavy. Good for winter.” Dean commented. “Almost like wearing a blanket. Do they wear pants underneath, or is like a dress?”

Castiel chuckled. “You know what? I have no idea.”

 


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lizerd70, I tried twice to reply to your outstandingly kind review, and got kicked off my page each time. Please know that I valued your input. I have no idea what I'm doing wrong when I reply to you. I just didn't want you to think I didn't appreciate the time you took to give feedback.
> 
> LittleRedDragon, same for you. I added a new tag because of you. ;-)

Dean tried to stand still, he really did. But, he felt fidgety, and had all during the night. He didn't understand it, either. He wasn't going into heat or anything. But, _something_ paced in the back of his mind, keeping him in a constant state of agitation. He couldn't figure it out.

“Dean, take it off,” Crowley sighed. “I can't fit you today. You're practically vibrating in place. We have two weeks before you walk down the aisle, so to speak, so it's not a rush job anyway.”

Dean took off the incomplete wedding kimono, and carefully spread it onto the bed. “I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm all stirred up.” He got into his shirt. “Maybe I'm just excited that everyone's coming back this week. Maybe it's Yule. I don't know.”

“Would you like a calming, herbal infusion?' Crowley asked, going for his kettle.

“Yeah, I would,” Dean said. “Alternately, a big glass of wine.”

“You can have both,” Crowley said. “The estate wine... I brought a bottle of that up this morning, intending a glass or two between lunch and supper. Help yourself.”

Dean went to the tea cabinet and got a wine glass. He found the wine in there, too, and uncorked it. He bolted the first glass and poured another. “I feel like something's getting closer and closer to me,” he said. “It started last night, about one in the morning.”

“Hm.” Crowley made the infusion, and set it down close to Dean. “Do you have any extra-sensory abilities?”

“I don't know what those would be.”

“Premonitions, seeing into the future, reading minds...” Crowley lifted his eyebrows. “Anything strange?”

“No,” Dean said. He drank the second glass, and sat down to start on the strange smelling 'not-tea'. “Well...”

“Yes?” Crowley goaded gently.

“Sometimes I have weird dreams,” Dean admitted. “Not too often. Apparently, I like to build houses in my head. I have a whole town of them at this point.”

Crowley got Dean some paper and a pencil. “Draw one or two,” he said. “The outside as well as the inside.”

Dean drew, and sipped. The warm fire and Crowley's silence served to make him feel slightly calmer. Too, the work. He drew the first house, which was large, with a clock at the top floor. He drew the broken hands and shattered glass, wondering why he'd imagine such a thing. Brains really were odd.

When finished, he gave the drawing to Crowley. Crowley looked at it a long time, eyes taking in all the details. “Dean, this is elaborate,” he said at last. “You're good enough of an artist that I know what everything is, even some things that I shouldn't, like bullet holes in drywall, and pressure fractures in sheet rock with paint over top.”

“Yeah, strange,” Dean said. “Whatever you gave me to drink helped, Crowley. What was it?”

“You really don't want to know. All I can say is I'd be burned alive. Though, it's not a bit harmful, not in any way. Shall I measure some out into an envelope, and let you take it back to the bedroom you share with Castiel?”

“Please,” Dean said. “I think I'll go read one of my letters. I only opened Naomi's. I was drawing them out to make the feel-good last.

Crowley's lips pursed as he tapped green powder into an envelope. “Dean, darling, you break my old, rotten heart.”

“Why?” Dean asked, startled.

“It doesn't matter. I'm only glad that I know quality when I see it.” Crowley folded the envelope without licking the glue. “Do _not_ spill this on wet skin. Two pinches to a regular sized tea cup. No more than once again today, or two daily doses. I can't turn you into an addict.”

Dean decided then and there he'd _never_ take the stuff unless in Crowley's presence, or Castiel's. He put the folded envelope under his arm. “Thanks, Crowley.”

“No issue, buttercup,” Crowley said. “You know where I am if you need me.”

Dean went back to Castiel's room and got the box, sitting on the bed. He carefully tucked the medicine to one side, using the empty jewelry box as a clamp to keep it shut.

Zachariah or Kevin? Dean debated it a moment. He thought he'd save Kevin's letter for last, as a way to cheer himself up when he really needed it. He'd be seeing Kevin before too long, happily. He opened the paper and spread it out in his hands, admiring Zachariah's sharp, bold hand.

_Dear Dean,_

_My wife is better with words than I am, and she pretty much used all my good material. I, too, hope that you are happy and safe as you read this. I'm sure Castiel is treating you well, as he's incapable of putting in less than his best effort into anything, and you're very much his focus nowadays._

_As Naomi wrote, we will be seeing you very soon. I'm happy to say that Kevin is flourishing with us already. I know it hurt you to part with him, Dean, but now that my youngest son isn't a problem, visiting can be very frequent. There's no need to keep Kevin on a demanding schedule. We have the funds to do whatever we like. This is one of those rare instances where money usage isn't vulgar or embarrassing._

_My gift to you should be opened now, if you haven't yet looked. We can pretend that I'm waiting. Once it's opened, keep reading._

Dean fished out the little bag, and opened it. A necklace spilled out into his hands, curiously made. It had a tail. It was perfectly symmetrical otherwise. When he held it up he saw the dark, slick beads shone red. At the end of ten beads there was a pearl, all the way around. So, fifty red beads and four pearls there, but the tail had three very large pearls before terminating into a heavy, silver symbol of a man stretched out on planks of wood.

Just above the tail, linking all the pieces together, was a flat disk with the same depiction that was on Dean's gift box. Michael punishing Lucifer. Tiny words around that read: St. Michael Defend Us From Evil.

Dean picked up the letter again.

_Castiel can tell you about this piece better than I can write it down, I know. However, I can tell you that it is garnet, silver, and freshwater pearl. The silver was made from melting down a damaged cross from a little-known monastery that didn't survive The Calamity._

_Dean, I realize that you aren't of the same faith as the rest of my family, and this religious piece isn't meant to influence you. It's an heirloom, handed down in the Novak family since the apocalyptic conditions that brought this world to its knees. Hundreds of years, it has been held, worn, or carried by Novaks and their mates. You hold history in your hands. But, please don't wear it unless you fully understand what it means._

_That might take a long time._

_That related, I'll close by telling you that Naomi wore the red gown to a stodgy get-together in town, here, and blew everyone off their feet. She wanted to tell you in person, but I must have some revenge for having her hanging over me and correcting my grammar every few seconds._

_Zachariah._

Dean chuckled. It looked like the paper had been wrinkled at the bottom by a game of 'keep-away'. He left it out so Cas could read it if he wanted. He put the necklace back into the little drawstring bag, and tucked it into his obi. He'd go find Cas now, and talk to him.

Downstairs, near the butler's station, Dean asked Meg where Castiel might be, and when she lifted her head to look at him, he found she had a black eye. “What?” He asked flatly. “Who did that to you?”

“Who else but the damned St. Addams butler,” Meg told him as she wrote at her tiny desk. “Don't worry, I gave back better than I got. He's nursing a split lip and a broken tooth.” She pointed out the door. “Master Novak is in the stables. He needed quality time with his favorite stallion, Brave.”

“He named it Brave?” Dean asked, trying for being calm, but the urge to go and dust his fans on Caruthers was strong, very strong.

“It's a bloodline name,” Meg said. “God only knows the whole, ridiculous title it must have. Ask him, and he'll happily tell you.”

Dean went and got his cloak, which he usually left hanging in the kitchen. He did this for two reasons. One, it would always be warm, because the cook fires never went out. Random servants made sure of that. Two, the smell of spices disguised his scent a little bit. Cinnamon was a powerful scent that blocked a lot of other ones.

He left out the back door and into the cold, winter air. Dean hurried toward the stables. Many people were wandering back and forth between their cabins, carrying firewood or covered pots. Dean smelled various kinds of stews in the breeze. Bacon cooking in iron skillets. Laundry soap. Hearth fires.

Tor-Valen smelled like home, now. The manor itself always smelled clean, but the estate and these servant's cabins, produced honest, domestic scents that made Dean think of his mother. Learning how to sew while sitting beside the fireplace, food cooking nearby. Helping her wash Sammy's clothes. The way she smiled when she gave him his first doll, and how he felt when holding it.

Dean stopped walking. He stood very still, eyes shut, pushing back the bittersweet ache in his chest. He couldn't go into the stables smelling like sadness. Cas had enough on his mind. Dean wouldn't stress him with omega loss.

Controlling one's scent is difficult, but he could do it. He just hadn't had to once getting to Tor-Valen. He forced himself to think of something happy and clean. The memory of Sonny giving him his jinbaori.

In control of himself once more, Dean closed the final distance to the stables. He could hear Cas' low, rumbling voice very soon.

“Crowley's already given me fair warning about townie trouble,” Cas said to someone. “I sent a very expensively posted letter to my mother, asking her to bring a contingent with her. I promise not to go into town alone anymore, Bobby.”

“I know you can take care of yourself,” Bobby was saying as Dean touched the stable door. “Hell, you can take care of six people at once. I just don't want you to get dead, is all. I like it here, and I like you. Sir.”

“I like you too, Bobby,” Castiel told him.

Dean opened the door. Neither alpha jerked as if guilty. They just turned their heads to see who was coming in. This told Dean that Castiel fully intended to talk to him about the new danger, at some point. Naomi had warned Dean that Castiel didn't exist in the same place as everyone else, so, doubtless, he'd just been thinking about other things.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel greeted, smiling.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said back, suddenly shy. So sporadic, this shyness around his kind-hearted alpha. Dean wondered about it. Really, Cas put him on shaky ground sometimes.

Bobby nodded to them both and vacated quickly, going outside.

Dean sat on a hay bale close to Castiel. “Which one is Brave?”

“This one,” Castiel said, reaching out to stroke a horse's head. “Do they all look alike to you?”

“Yeah. If they're the same color, I can't tell one from another,” he admitted. “I came out to ask you about something.”

“I'm all attention.” Castiel sat beside of him, and turned so they could look at each other better.

Cas smelled good.

Dean drew out the bag. “This is what your father sent me. He wrote that I should ask you about it.”

Castiel carefully opened the bag. The necklace kind of slithered out to pool in his palm. “Oh,” he said softly. “He gave you the family distinction. Dean, you have won his complete approval. This would have gone to me, but, instead, he gave it to you. That was so you could pass it to the child of your choice.”

“Oh,” Dean echoed. “Shouldn't that be _your_ choice, Cas? You're the alpha.”

Castiel carefully put the necklace back into the bag. “This is my father's way of showing you he believes _you_ are more valuable. And, he's right. You are. Our family will not go on without you.”

Dean held the bag, feeling the weight of the necklace and comparing it to the weight of the ring on his right hand. Both objects showed that Naomi and Zachariah fully invested the future of the Novak line into Dean. Both were lovely, and nearly incalculable in value when considering what they represented. He wouldn't feel worthy, if not for caring about Cas so much.

Castiel's parents wanted him to bear children.

Dean wanted children.

Cas would wait for him to decide when to have them.

“I won't lose this,” Dean vowed. “I won't lose Cassandra's ring, either.”

“I would never believe that you could be careless with items given to you out of love and approval,” Castiel said solemnly. “You've read my mother's letter over and over, even though you have a perfect memory. That tells me how precious honest feelings are to you.” Castiel slid his hand underneath Dean's chin, and gently turned his head upward. “The depth of your appreciation for people, Dean, is vast and beautiful. It makes _you_ beautiful.”

“Cas...” Dean whispered. “Cas... the things that come out of your mouth...”

Castiel smiled tenderly at him. “It's just the truth. I never bother to lie, if possible. I'm terrible at it.”

Humor swelled up in Dean, blending with the awe he had for Cas, and, the depth of his words. Cas made him feel like the most treasured thing in the whole world, but not because of what he could do for the manor, or because he could do useful things. Cas liked him _inside_. That was so much bigger than liking his face or his ass, or for carrying on the family name.

“I could watch your eyes every minute of every day, and never get enough,” Cas said, still holding him gently under the chin. “You're made of love and intelligence, and _sacrifice_ , and those shine in you every second. I've never seen _anyone_ like you. In some moments, I can't believe you're even real.”

Dean felt himself smiling though the enormity of the compliment being paid. “I'm just me, Cas.”

“I know, but your 'just me' is so far above others that my standards are going up,” Castiel told him, also smiling. “That means trouble for everyone but you, by the way.”

Dean heard a throat being cleared.

Cas and Dean pulled upright as Meg approached. “Sir,” she said quietly. “There's someone here to see you.” She looked at Dean as she handed a small, white card to Castiel.  “Dean, I'm so sorry for what you're about to go through.”

Castiel read the card, and gave a nearly sub-audible growl.

Dean reeled at the scent of _wrath_ that shot from Castiel. He flinched back, and Castiel instantly reined in his feelings, the rage dampening down to a hot simmer instead of boiling over.

“Dean,” Cas said carefully. “You don't have to endure this. _By no means_ do you have to see him.” He handed Dean the card. “I will honor whatever you tell me to do.”

Dean's heart thudded to a halt before restarting, the blood in his veins turning to ice. On that thickly made card of paper, a name stood out black and horrible.

John Winchester.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------=

 

Dean stared at the card until his eyes blurred. He tore his attention away, and looked up into the rafters. “He can't be here because he wants to see me,” Dean whispered. “He's going to try and extort money from you, Cas. It's how he'd be. You're rich, and I'm his son.”

“If I pay him what he wants, will he leave you alone?” Castiel asked. “I have no trouble throwing money at the man, if it means he'll leave you in peace.”

“Cas, I don't know,” Dean confessed. “It's been so long. It might be that a quick payoff would only encourage him to seek more and more. He could get to be a real problem. But, he might be satisfied with a one-time thing, like a dowry.”

“You can't be serious,” Meg said, quiet but outraged. “Sir, giving money to that man is sinful! He _hurt_ Dean.”

Meg knew about Dean's circumstances, his history. Dean smiled a little. House gossip. Samandriel, probably, making conversation to Kara while they knitted. Dean didn't really care what people knew about him, though. He had little to be embarrassed about. He didn't ask his father to drag him off to Sonny's. And, he wasn't ashamed of being an omega, just inconvenienced by it in the extreme.

“Meg,” Cas said, employing the same tone she'd used, “What matters to me is reducing any and all of Dean's pain. No matter _how_ I do it.”

Meg bowed her head. “I'm sorry. It's not my place.”

“I have to see him, if for no other reason than to ask about Sammy,” Dean said, his throat trying to close off. “My brother could be dead, for all I know.”

“Yes. Yes, I understand,” Castiel said, rising. “You won't be facing him alone, Dean.”

Dean clutched onto Cas' arm, and stood. “I can do this. He's not able to hurt me anymore.”

“Meg, go ahead of us,” Cas ordered. “Show him to the visitor's parlor in the east wing, and stay there with him.”

“Yes, Master Novak,” Meg said, and ran.

Dean felt outside himself as they walked. He started shaking a little, and bit the inside of his lip to cause some focusing pain.

“Do you need anything before we confront him?” Castiel asked. “Dean, your stress scent is unbelievably strong.”

“Cas, I'm scared. When I get scared or upset, I start talking with my fans. I can't help myself.”

“I can translate and interact, Dean,” Cas said, soothing in tone. “I will be right there with you. I won't allow this to get out of hand. I'll control this long overdue reunion. Your silence will not be your responsibility.” Cas squeezed Dean's arm gently but firmly. “Your father cannot 'out-alpha' me, I assure you.”

They came inside, and Dean suddenly felt so grateful that his cinnamon scented cloak would at least partially block the sharp pungency of his omega fear. He paused by the door to the east wing, and leaned on the wall, pulling in a few breaths to brace himself. “I don't hate him, and I'm not really even afraid of him, so why am I scared, Cas?” Every word that left his lips was like he had to wrench them free.

“Because, he's your past. Because, you're afraid of what he might say about Sam,” Cas said, rubbing his back. “Unfinished business, set to simmer for fourteen years, isn't going to be easy no matter what. It's understandable, even _expected_ , for you to be upset.”

Dean nodded. He straightened up. Cas was right. No one could go into something like this and be calm. He hated that his father would be able to smell his distress, though. He wanted to stand before John Winchester tall and strong. But, that wasn't in the cards. “All right,” he whispered with effort. “Let's get this over with.”

Cas led him into the east wing. They went down the hallway, past the ballroom and the quarters the elder Novaks had used. At the second to last door, Castiel stopped. His blue eyes looked into Dean's deeply. “He has no power over you,” he said softly, and he opened the door.

Dean went in with Cas at his side.

At first, Dean thought someone had played a sick joke on him. The man sitting all bent over on an over-stuffed chair, was too lean and ragged to be John Winchester. But, when the man lifted his head, and Dean saw his face, he recognized him. His father looked old and tired, nothing like the raging, powerful alpha that had shoved him into a sack for disposal.

Their eyes met, and his father only held his gaze for a moment before looking away.

What had _happened_ to his father? Dean felt ill. He'd have rather seen the mighty, confident man, not this ailing, frail creature that looked unable to withstand a hard breeze.

“Mr. Winchester,” Castiel said. “Your arrival is curiously timed.” His voice was like the breeze off of January ice.

“Novak,” John said, subdued and low. “Yes. Yes, it is. I'm not here for money, though. I've been a shitty father to both of my children, and I've been told I'm not long for the world. This is a last-ditch effort at clearing some of my debts.” He slowly stood up, as was polite, but it wasn't easy for him. He was off balance, and shaky.

Dean's father was _dying_

Castiel nodded, and motioned that John should sit back down. “Meg,” he said. “Send Alisha in here to build a fire. This accounting of moral debt might take awhile, as John Winchester's debts are numerous.” He guided Dean to the opposite side of the room as Meg moved away. “Dean, do you want to face your father, or the wall?”

Cas was all business and stern control, and Dean appreciated that very much. He needed Cas' strength even more than he thought he would. Hand trembling, Dean took a fan from his obi and pointed toward his father.

Castiel pulled a two-person sofa into an appropriate position, and sat Dean upon it. He stood behind him, both hands on his shoulders. Warm, supportive strength just waiting to be called upon for action.

Dean stared at his father while the house maid came in and built a fire. The silence overwhelmed. His father wouldn't look at him longer than a few seconds at a time, but he couldn't keep his eyes away, either. They kept coming back, over and over.

Once Alisha left, Castiel sat down beside of Dean. “Is your problem acquired, or of the blood?” Castiel asked abruptly. “I need to know for Dean's own health.”

“Acquired through my own stupidity,” John answered.

“That's a relief.” Castiel reached back and tugged on the bell pull. Meg came back in immediately. “Bring two bottles of the estate wine, and two glasses, Meg,” he ordered.

Again, Meg left.

“All right, Mr. Winchester,” Castiel said. “You're free to unburden yourself.”

“Where's Sam?” Dean heard himself croak. “Is he alive?”

John sighed. “Yes. Yes, Sam is alive. Or, he was two months ago. I don't know what he does. He only writes or visits on special occasions. It's possible I'll be dead before he takes an idea to see me.”

“Does your second child know anything about Dean?” Castiel asked.

“Only the lies I told him in order to stop him from asking questions,” John said, putting his face in his hands. “Dean, you should know that all the letters you wrote to him... I didn't destroy them. I had that much pity. They're in a box in the attic.”

“That would do Dean some good if he could even figure out where his old house was,” Castiel said, his voice still wintery. “Being drugged, dragged from his home in a sack, disoriented and terrified, he doesn't know.”

Dean watched his father sort of curl inward upon himself, heard him give a sob.

“Don't cry for sins that would have no weight if not for the threat of God's hand about to fall upon you,” Castiel said harshly. “Your mortality is every reason to treat others well, always. Not only when you see the end of your life looming.”

“I know, I know,” John moaned. “I'm ashamed. I'm ashamed, and it's not enough, and I'm going to die a villain to my own children.”

“I don't hate you,” Dean whispered.

John dropped his hands and looked at Dean through watering eyes. Finally, direct contact, but it cut Dean to see the self-loathing in his father's eyes. “Why not, boy? I hate _myself_. I bought into all the garbage my own father taught me about The Dynamic, and I thought I had to get rid of you. My own flesh and blood.”

“I can't answer that,” Dean said through lips nearly gone numb. He brought out a fan to shield himself from the sight of his miserable, grieving father, so confused and sick he thought he might vomit.

“I'm not sure, but I'm ninety percent certain Dean is simply incapable of hate,” Castiel said. “There's too much love in him to support hatred. Anger, yes. Judgment, yes. But hate? That takes a kind of cold distance Dean doesn't have.”

“I'm glad,” John said. And, he went back to his sagging position, looking like a broken marionette.

Meg returned with the wine and glasses on a tray. She opened one bottle and poured, then left again.

“Dean, are you healthy?” John asked, looking up again. “Are you well? God, you look so much like _Mary_. I can't believe it.”

“I'm fine,” Dean said, almost outside himself with pain. “What's wrong with you?”

John gave a bitter laugh. “I couldn't handle your mother's death. I drowned myself in booze and whores. It took a toll. I came down with a sexual disease. Your brother got a front row seat to my slow and progressive decay, so he's utterly disgusted with me.”

“He's an alpha?” Dean asked.

“Yes.”

“Good,” Dean said dumbly. “That's good.”

“Have a glass of wine, Winchester,” Cas invited. “I expect you need it.”

“You knew I was an alcoholic,” John said, getting a glass.

“Yes. The signs are easy to spot.” Castiel got a glass, and reclined back. He made Dean lean with him until he supported him entirely. Then, he offered the glass to Dean. “I'm not feeding you in front of him,” he whispered in Dean's ear. “I don't think he's able to witness that intimacy.”

Dean nodded. That was probably very true.

“At least he got a good man,” John said. “I've been asking around about you. Every time Dean got sold, I asked.”

“Then, why didn't you intercept when St. Addams bought him?” Castiel asked, swift and sharp.

“I thought... I thought at least Dean wouldn't starve,” John said. “Starvation is a bad way to go, and there are a lot of omegas out there hungry. Even _ **I**_ could take it up the ass if it meant eating enough.”

Inappropriate humor bubbled up in Dean, wild and almost gale-force. He knew the feeling as a herald of hitting a limit in his emotions, and whimpered, turning his face until he could get a whiff of Cas right at the side of his head.

“Dean eats well,” Castiel said, sounding a bit less cold. “I feed and clothe him even though he's perfectly capable of feeding and clothing himself. He's smart and talented, with the rarest and most giving nature of anyone I've ever encountered.”

John, crumpled over with his wine, let out a long sigh. “His mother was, too. She must hate me by now. Looking down from God's Heaven to see what I've done to her precious children... I can't bear it.”

“You hate religion,” Dean whispered.

“People about to meet their end nearly always try to find comfort in faith of some kind, Dean,” John said. “Death is an unknown thing.”

Castiel had a sip of wine, and kissed the side of Dean's temple. “Don't seek or commit to any faith for the same reason your father has,” he said quietly.

Dean nodded his understanding and compliance.

“Do you have any way at all to contact Sam?” Castiel asked. “Dean wishes to know his brother.”

“Of course he does,” John said sadly. “No, I know of nothing. Samuel only contacts me when his natural feelings of love overpower his aversion for my presence.”

They were quiet a few minutes, drinking. Cas rang the bell again, and Meg reentered.

“Meg, have the guest quarters here prepared for Mr. Winchester,” he said. “It's going to snow tonight. Have Bobby take the man's horse, and stable it. Bring a late lunch to him, and supper, and provide him with a bottle of stiff liquor. Inform the maids he may stay longer than a few days.”

“Yes, sir,” Meg said, and left.

“I don't deserve to sleep in your home,” John said.

“Nevertheless, your pain bothers Dean, and I would not add one more dram to the vile potion that began distilling within him the moment you stuffed him into a bag,” Castiel informed. “As it stands now, Dean is righteous. I won't throw him off balance.”

John shuddered. “Thank God,” he said. “Thank God he didn't end up with someone cruel.”

“You wondered?” Castiel gave Dean the last of the wine, and stroked his head soothingly.

“I kept up enough to not completely shame my poor wife,” John said weakly. “Not enough for a good father, or even a bad one. Only enough to have some perspective now about how wretched I am, and to know that I couldn't have done worse to Dean and Sam on purpose.”

“I wouldn't say that at all,” Castiel remarked. He pushed Dean into sitting up, then made him stand up with him. “Your arrival has upset Dean, and I need to take him away for a while. It's possible he'll come back down. Please make yourself as comfortable as you can. If you need anything, ring the bell.”

Dean didn't try to get a last look at his father. He was reeling. Everything seemed to be happening either too slow or too fast. He clung to Cas, disoriented, and not knowing exactly where he was. Nothing looked familiar anymore. Nothing was _right_.

Castiel took Dean directly upstairs and sat him on the bed. Dean stared at nothing as Castiel rid him of his cloak and boots, barely moved when his shirt came off and his trousers. Suddenly, he lay inside warm, heavy bed covers, naked, pressed up against an equally naked Cas.

“Dean? Dean are you in there?” Castiel asked him urgently.

“Yeah...” Dean felt a shiver tear through him. “I think...”

Cas touched his forehead. “Sleep, Dean. Go to sleep.”

Dean knew nothing else but darkness.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------=

 

Dean awakened. For three entire seconds, he felt nothing. Then, reality crashed down. He cringed, and even though lying in bed, he covered his face with his hands.

“Dean...” Castiel pulled him close. “Dean, do you want your fans?”

Dean tapped his lips.

Castiel got up and retrieved the fans for him. Dean violently flicked one open and fanned himself. He burned inside, and all over. Not fertile heat, not anger. Humiliation. He'd rather John be ashamed of him than to feel that shame himself, for John.

It would have been better to go on believing his father strong and proud.

Dean fought the blankets, and rolled out of bed. Naked, he strode to Cas' desk and found the ink bottle. He got a fine brush, and drew the characters he needed on his fans, one at a time. His throat had locked up. He couldn't even cry.

Aching inside and out, Dean collected his favorite clothing. The hakama, short kimono, and haori, made of heavy black silk, would feel good and show his mourning status. His only concession to being thoroughly proper was the white obi. Though claimed, he was still a virgin.

His fans were dry. Dean hooked them into his obi and retrieved the little bag with the Novak heirloom, sitting down on the bed. He poured the necklace out, and felt the slick, heavy beads one at a time. He looked at the man. He looked at Michael. He thought about how Zachariah and Naomi had only known him a short time and already trusted him with the symbols they held in such value.

Castiel owned Dean.

Dean owned Castiel's parents.

Dean hung the necklace on the bedpost, on the side he usually slept. No one would bother it. He'd keep the door locked anyway.

Castiel appeared in his vision, crouching on the floor in front of him. His eyes were so blue. Dean didn't understand how a person could have eyes like that. So full of caring and compassion. All the _feeling_ in there.

“When you are trapped within yourself, Dean, it hurts to see,” Cas said. “Shall we take a meal with your father?”

Dean relented upon that. He did need to explore his dad. Try to understand him. John wouldn't be alive much longer, and Dean wanted no regrets on his own end of things. 'Yes', he told Cas with a fan.

Cas combed his hair for him and stood back, slightly smiling. “Out of place to say it right now, but you look very handsome.”

'Thank you', Dean said. It really wasn't out of place, and it made him feel a little better to know he wasn't presenting himself badly.

Once downstairs, Meg intercepted them. “Sir, you will be receiving a complaint,” she said. “Caruthers gave impolite attitude to Winchester, and I threw him off the property for it. He intends to sue for wrongful termination, and physical harm.”

“Send a word to my lawyer,” Castiel said. “Are you hurt, Meg?”

“No.” Meg smiled as if that was funny. She looked at Cas with fondness in her eyes.

“Good. Take the rest of the day off, if you like. I'll put a housemaid onto your lighter duties.”

“Very good, sir. Thank you.”

Castiel led Dean into the east wing. They found Dean's father sitting in the dim parlor, staring into a newly fed fire.

“Good morning,” Castiel said briskly, and passed by John to start opening window blinds. The sun, startlingly bright, flooded the parlor and made John groan a little. “Come along, man,” Castiel said, opening another and another. “You've wallowed in your mess long enough. It's time to straighten up. You aren't going to die today.”

Dean knelt close to Castiel's position, an odd feeling of relaxation setting upon him now that he was actually in the same room with his father again. Staring at the problem instead of wondering about it, he supposed.

John looked at him. “I hate seeing you submissive,” he said sadly. “You were such a boisterous, happy child.”

Dean remembered. But, there were certain things gone from his past, blotted out by pain and loss. He thought of Kara's questions, and motioned to Cas.

Castiel watched him a moment before frowning, his eyes pained. “Dean wants to know his birthday,” he reported to John. “Oh, _Dean_...”

“January twenty-fourth,” John whispered. “The snow on the ground that morning was three feet thick. Mary named you after her mother, Deanna. You weighed nine pounds exactly, and your hair was very dark. It wasn't until you were five or six that your hair changed color.”

Dean stared at the floor, thinking about all that. His father had worked outside the home, and he'd been with his mother constantly. He'd helped her with housework and cooking, laundry and errands. They should have all suspected by his lack of complaint, and his interest in domestics, that he'd present as an omega.

“I'm bonding with Dean officially during Christmas,” Castiel informed John. “You are invited.”

“That's two weeks,” John said. “By the way he is with you, I thought it already done.”

“Dean and I have a different sort of bond already,” Castiel said, putting his hand on Dean's head gently. “He has sacrificed a lot for me, and this manor, even to my servants. Everyone here loves him. My parents adore him as well.”

“That's good to know,” John said, sighing.

“My parents will be here in two days,” Cas went on. “This is the wing they tend to inhabit. I think you should stay long enough to meet them, and be assured as to Dean's newer, higher position in life.”

“I have nothing waiting on me at home,” John said. “I would like meeting them, yes.”

“Good.”

John moved as if to seat himself, and stumbled. Castiel caught him by the elbow. The light in the room made it easy for Dean to see John's surprise at Castiel's strength. Dean, just for a moment, thought he heard people whispering in the room, and looked around nervously.

The manor wasn't haunted, was it? Dean had never seen a ghost, but that meant exactly nothing. It wasn't like he'd had much opportunity to travel.

“You're very strong,” John said quietly as Castiel lowered him to a chair. “Strong as a werewolf.”

Cas eyed John. “I'm not a werewolf.”

“No, you aren't,” John agreed. “I saw you touching the silver tray yesterday.”

Dean felt an odd tension in the room, now. Cas and John were staring at each other openly. Dean didn't see a challenge or insult, but the two alphas measured each other a little.

“The Novak name is very old,” John said. “Older than the Calamity. Your parents own a lot of land and ocean. Fishermen clan?”

Cas nodded. “Yes, originally and in modern function. We have our hands in many ventures and avenues of commerce, though.”

John bowed his head. “I believed I served with a Novak,” he said thoughtfully. “Bright young man, dark hair, blue eyes... Looked like you, a little. What was his name? Adric? Adron?”

“Adirion Novak,” Castiel said. “My mother's second cousin. He's a tradesman now. Fighting against the Maholok took all interest in warfare out of him.”

“Your mother is the Novak?” John asked.

“And my father. They are distantly related. The only way they could have alpha children.” Cas tugged on the bell pull. “There are many different Novak clans scattered all over the world. My parents are the most influential, though.”

John nodded, and relaxed backward, looking as if he felt relieved.

Alisha came in, and bowed. “Yes, Master Novak?”

“Will you tell Crowley to bring his medical bag down here?” Castiel asked. “Also, has Mr. Winchester's room been tidied?”

“I was about to clean it, sir,” she said. “I will do so directly after relaying your message.”

“Thank you, Alisha,” Cas said.

“Much nicer than that stuffed shirt of a butler you have,” John muttered. “The fellow needs his ass kicked.”

“That was the St. Addams butler. My own butler threw him out on his ear. My apologies for his rude behavior. We've had an influx of servants, and things haven't been ironed out yet.” Cas ran his hand through Dean's hair twice, and it served to settle Dean's nerves slightly.

“You absorbed St. Addams' staff after putting his estate to ruin,” John murmured. “Word around the town is it was a revenge thing.”

“He ruined your son's back with an ox whip,” Castiel said. “Dean almost died.”

The words fell out, flat and hard. John shuddered, his eyes drawn to Dean.

“Boy, I'm sorry. If I hadn't...”

“You can't do anything about it now,” Castiel said. “Try to get to know Dean. He wants that.”

Dean watched his father's eyes flare a little brighter with hope before dimming back down to sadness.

A scratching came at the door. Ruto had discovered them gone and tracked them. Castiel got up and let him in. Sphinx bounded in with him, immediately leaping up to Castiel's shoulder as Ruto happily zeroed in on Dean.

“Dean's dog and cat,” Cas said. “They protect him. Well, Ruto does. Sphinx will when she gets older.”

“That's a lynx,” John said. “I thought they'd mostly died out.”

“There's a population of them here, where winter tends to be colder, and the snow hares are abundant.” Castiel stroked the cat, smiling when she leaned into his hand. “They depend upon the hares, you know. If the hares die out, so do the lynx. Every few years, I trap a few hares and let them breed. I set them out into the woods, then.”

John winced a bit. “That's harsh. They start off as pets and end up as lunch.”

“We keep cattle, among other things,” Castiel pointed out. “I'm responsible for the maintenance of this land, these woods. When my ancestors lived here, they had to kill an entire clan of werewolves. Would you like to see their trophies?”

At that moment, Crowley strolled through the open door, bag in hand. “Who's sick?” He asked.

“Dean's father, John,” Cas informed.

Crowley narrowed his eyes on Dean's father. “So?”

“Please, see what you can do for him, Crowley,” Cas asked. “It's important to Dean.”

Crowley nodded stiffly. He set his bag down, and motioned for John to get up. “Face the window so I can see your eyes better,” he ordered.

John did as told. Crowley had a long look at John's face.

“I can't be cured,” John said quietly.

“Let me be the judge of that,” Crowley muttered. “Who diagnosed you, and with what?”

“Doctor Vernor, and he said I have syphilis.” John reported.

“You don't,” Crowley contradicted. “You have advanced alcoholism, and it's squeezing your liver. Quit drinking, and you might live a few more years as-is.” Crowley reached into his bag and pulled out a little bottle. “This is a system cleanser. Tomorrow, drink only water and this. One spoonful into a cup, and add boiling water.”

John, speechless, stood there with his mouth open, bottle in hand, as Crowley snapped his bag latch.

Dean's father wasn't dying.

 

Dean felt a surge of relief. He hadn't wanted his dad to die. He stood, taking the water pitcher from the table and pouring it over first one fan and then the other, almost smiling but too raw yet. He nearly put the fire out, pouring into the fireplace, but he didn't care.

“Dean?” John asked.

“Don't disturb him for a few moments, Winchester,” Cas advised. “He's taking the mourning characters off his fans. He put them on this morning to show shame and loss.”

“If that's all you need, my telling the wretch he has more time to make up for his grievous mistreatment of Dean, I'll go,” Crowley said. “I'll meet you for tea upstairs at seven, Dean!”

Dean waved to him.

“He's... an omega doctor?” John asked.

“He's an irritating, loud-mouthed, disrespectful little tailor, is what,” Cas answered, and Dean smiled before he could even think about it.

“Oh, God, Dean looks just like Mary when he smiles,” John whispered. He took two steps toward Dean, and something inside of Dean just _broke_.

Dean snapped a fan up as a warning, stunning his father with the sudden noise and unfurling of canvas. The other fan, closed, jabbed the air beside his throat. John staggered backward, eyes wide.

“I don't think Dean wants you to get too close,” Cas said dryly.

“Yes...” John swallowed hard, and backed away. “I kinda got that when he showed me he could have driven the pointy end of his fan into my throat.”

Dean gave his father a warning stare before hooking his fans to his obi. He felt _better_ , somehow. Stronger.

“I never thought about those things as weapons,” John said, sitting back down. “Just the sound of one of them opening is like a whip crack.”

“There is an entire language in using them, and I had to become proficient in it quickly, as I made a serious error with Dean early into our relationship. I was punished, but I don't think I can ever forgive myself.” Cas caught Dean's eye, then, and sent him another silent apology.

Dean tapped his neck and bowed to Cas. He was fine. No, better than fine. Facing John with some of his buried anger, had felt amazing.

“He's so graceful,” John said quietly. “That struck me pretty quick. But, why is Dean barefoot?”

“Shoes were too expensive at the omega school, and Dean has become accustomed to not wearing them. He _does_ have shoes. He doesn't like them at all.” Castiel leaned on the wall, and crossed his arms.

Dean smirked at him.

“I could tell,” Castiel said. “You curled your lip at my boots. The shoes my mother made you have come perilously close to a few 'accidents'.”

Dean blushed, and bowed his head. He didn't think Cas would notice how close he was putting those shoes to the fireplace.

Cas chuckled. “Maybe you'd like a pair of moccasins better?”

Dean waved an opened fan back and forth to show indecision. Then, he shut it and bowed again.

“A 'maybe' is better than nothing,” Cas commented. “As I've said, though, you don't have to do anything you don't want to do. Ever.”

Dean came over to him and looked into his eyes. Not breaking contact, he lowered himself to his knees. He heard his father give a choked noise, and didn't care one damned bit.

“Winchester,” Cas said, still giving Dean his full eye contact. “You need to get used to this. This is Dean. Your son. Your omega son with whom you should be pleased.” He put his hand on Dean's head, and stroked his hair softly.

Dean let his eyes shut, then, basking in having support and approval when his emotions kept looping wildly in every direction.

“It just looks terrible,” John said. “A man on his knees before another man...”

Dean smiled, and sneaked a peek at Cas, whose lips twitched.

“Perhaps you should never dine with us,” Cas murmured. “I feed him by hand, as we both enjoy it immensely.”

Dean heard his father make an angry sound. He didn't speak, though. Dean tuned his father out, and concentrated on Castiel's fingers.

“Dean, would you like to get a pair of my terrible boots, and go outside awhile?” Castiel asked. “We could show your father all that you'll be in charge of in a few weeks. Well, some of it, anyway.”

Dean nodded, and got up. He bowed again, and left the room.

At the upstairs landing, Crowley ambushed Dean. “When did he get here?” He asked. “Are you all right?”

“Last... night,” Dean forced out. “Yes. I'm just...”

“You're not talking.” Crowley's eyes narrowed. “You do that when you get overwhelmed. Well, your father's not dying, but I could _fix_ that for you.”

“No.” Dean shook his head.

“As you say.” Crowley patted his shoulder. “I could turn him into a toad...?”

Dean smiled. “No.”

“All right.” Crowley rolled his eyes. “You're not any fun at all.” He stalked toward his room, then.

Dean got the extra boots, and his heavy cloak. When he came downstairs, Cas and John were standing by the front door. Dean thought John already looked a little healthier, and he wondered why. Dean had to balance against Cas to put on the last boot, because the first one made him feel too removed from the floor. Cas fixed the cloak shut for him.

On Cas' arm, Dean walked out into the brilliant day. It was snowing heavily, and probably two feet deep on the ground. His father might have perished from cold if he'd tried to leave last night.

“How large is the estate?” John asked as they came closer to the stables.

“Tor-Valen is a hundred and twenty acres of pastureland, seven hundred acres of woodland, enclosed by four hundred miles square of wild land,” Cas reported. “The exception being the town, which was built and given to the elders by my great, great, great grandfather, Corriel Novak. The elders conveniently don't think about that anymore. Not to any great degree.”

Dean committed these facts into his head while looking at Cassandra's ring. It didn't sparkle any brighter than all this snow.

“You must employ a lot of people,” John said, sounding awed.

“A hundred and fifty around the manor, a hundred at the barns and on the range, and nearly a hundred specialty workers. We make wine, keep bees, raise cattle, chickens, goats and sheep. Some of my more industrious people keep pheasants and quail.” Castiel opened the stable doors. “I thought you might like to check on your horse. That is why we came here first.”

John came in and looked at the horses in silence as Castiel conversed quietly with Bobby. Dean went to Brave's stall, and looked the enormous animal in the eyes, wondering if he'd ever have the nerve to ride without Cas.

The horse smelled him noisily, which Dean thought a precursor to devouring him. He realized he was leaking fear when he saw all three of the alphas turn to look at him with varying degrees of worry. Brave put his nose against Dean's face, and just stood there.

Even being ignorant of all things equestrian, Dean understood a gesture of 'don't be afraid'. He'd used it many times for many a frightened young boy. Dean hesitantly put his hand up to touch Brave. The horse’s nose felt soft and cool, and his whiskers tickled a little. Dean smiled, and rubbed his forehead.

Castiel joined him. “Brave is able to smell your fear the same as any alpha would,” he said quietly. “He would never harm you, Dean. He's the kindest of creatures.

Dean nodded, and continued to pet the horse.

“One day,” Castiel sai, “you will ride as I do, bareback, and you will find out what it's like to be really free.”

Dean looked into Cas' eyes. He could never avoid doing so for very long. Gratitude overwhelmed him for having Cas at all. He leaned forward and rested against Cas' lean, strong body, asking for his touch.

Cas wrapped a careful arm around his waist. He skimmed his lips over Dean's throat, resting them on the mating bite scar.

 _You're still my mate_ , was the message.

Dean shuddered in relief. He knew Cas wouldn't forget him, abandon him, or throw him away. He knew those things. Why did he need the constant reminders?

Cas held him as long as he wanted, unmoving except for the occasional, gratifying nuzzle. “Thanks, Cas,” Dean whispered, starting to pull back. “I needed that.”

“Novak,” he heard John say. “You've got riders coming onto the property. Landed alphas, by the look of them."

Castiel squeezed Dean's hand, and stepped to the barn entrance.

Dean counted ten men. They were armed with sabers, two inches pulled free of the scabbards, which showed angry intent. A warning they meant business. The biggest man, also on the biggest horse, rode nearly right up on top of Cas, having to rein in hard when Cas didn't move.

Wow. Cas wasn't going to back down at all, not even if it meant getting hit. That was...

“Novak, you damned interfering _fucker_ ,” the big man with curly brown hair said, spitting afterward to one side. “What's your game?”

“Whist,” Castiel said promptly, monotone. “Sometimes I like the occasional game of charades, but only with close family.”

Dean pressed his lips together to keep from smiling. Cas could be a smart-ass, when he wanted.

“You know what I mean, you son of a bitch!” The man shouted, his face red with anger.

Castiel slowly began to remove his belt. “Insult me all you wish, Errgard, but not my mother. Apologize to me for that.”

“I'll do no such fucking thing, you-!”

Castiel whipped his belt outward. It wrapped around Errgard's neck. One jerk had him falling into the snow, hard. All the wind left him in a big whoosh. He gagged and gasped soundlessly as Castiel tossed his belt toward Bobby. “Bobby, shoot anyone who dismounts to help this disrespectful fool.”

“Right, Master Novak,” Bobby said, pulling his gun.

Guns were extremely rare and only allowed on farms, Dean knew. He'd never even seen a gun before Bobby showed him the Colt, so long ago it seemed. That weapon would certainly keep people on their horses.

Dean had missed most of the fight between Castiel and the state representative. The evidence had been all that was required, afterward, to know Castiel was a brutal brawler. But, Dean hadn't expected the swooping sensation that went through his guts as Castiel picked Errgard up and punched him in the stomach so hard he vomited.

Wham, wham, wham, Castiel hit him time after time, hard and fast, giving his foe no chance to recover. No expression on his face, just like when killing highwaymen. He pulled Errgard's sword free and snapped it like a dry twig over his knee, a terrible insult, while the man writhed in the deep snow.

“Apologize for insulting my mother,” Castiel said, his growl deep and dark. He put his boot on Errgard's face. “You come up here to threaten me on my own land, in front of my _hadja_ and his father, in front of my servants, armed to bully me like you do the unfortunates in the town? And, carelessly insult a woman whose boots are too good for you lick?” He shoved down, disgust and loathing finally showing on his handsome face. “I will break your bones one by one until I hear what I want, you repulsive maggot.”

Dean had no alpha to lean on except his father, but he took that. His legs were about to go out from under him. There was so much blood in the snow that it churned up a violent pink. Castiel's anger was mighty, so powerful in scent that the horses the men rode were rearing up, nervous, wanting to be away.

Errgard pissed himself as Castiel crushed his nose like a egg shell. It sounded wet and disgusting, and Dean clamped a hand down on John.

“I won't ask again,” Castiel intoned.

“Forgive me!” Errgard wailed through all the blood and the compression of Castiel's boot. “I'm sorry!”

“Hm,” Castiel said, pitching his voice upward for mockery. “It seems all the bravery you drank this morning has abandoned you. Get on your horse and go. If I see you here again, you die. That goes for the rest of you.”

Dean thought he might heave up at the sight of Errgard weakly trying to get on his horse. He failed over and over, sliding, never quite able to lift himself. Someone grabbed him and hauled him over the saddle, and another took the reins of his horse. They left quickly, more quickly than they'd ridden in.

Castiel washed his hands clean of blood with snow, and dragged his boots in it for good measure. Dean looked at those long, beautiful fingers, hands that had touched him so carefully and with so much reverence. He felt worlds colliding within himself.

Castiel had told Dean that he was an animal.

Dean still didn't believe that. Even now.

“They ain't comin' back overtly,” Bobby said, holstering his gun. He wasn't a bit upset. “I was a damned fool to pen the dogs up last night. Won't happen again.”

“Don't blame yourself, Bobby,” Castiel said, accepting his belt and putting it back on. “I knew this was coming. The spoiled, hard-hearted town alphas don't like that I feed and clothe their slave labor forces. Mother is bringing her personal guards here, anyway. They are heavily trained and armed, and fight like five men apiece. Let it be known in the household that none are to wander about alone.”

“Groups of ten?” Bobby suggested.

“Fifteen,” Castiel corrected. “I'm going to get word to the governor about what's happening in town. He'll probably send soldiers. I hope so. These men need lined up outside the law house and executed.”

John cautiously touched Dean's hand. “Boy? You all right?”

Dean looked at his father fully. “You want my forgiveness?”

“Yes, son, I do,” John said.

“Then, stay here and help us,” Dean said. “Cas just started a war.”

 


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't be posting tomorrow, as I need a day in the sunshine. Plus, my parents need me for various medical things. I will post again the next day. Thank you, all of you, for encouraging me and being so good about pointing out things I need to address. I can't get any better at this if I don't have the feedback. You guys let me know what you'd like to read, especially. This is for you, after all.

Dean took a late lunch with Ellen so Castiel could have private time composing the important letter requesting more aid. She didn't say much, but that was okay. Most everyone that had seen the display this morning, had talked about it. A lot of people were discussing defense and fortification now, and Ellen apparently had a lot on her mind.

John came in as Dean sat down to plan a dish for dinner. He sat close to Dean, but not too close, and watched him draw the black-stroke characters. “That alpha of yours is potent,” he said. “I've never seen the like.”

“Cas doesn't play around,” Dean said. He'd found it easier to talk now, for some reason. Maybe the stimulating, horrible exhibition had broken his tongue free. “You insult his family and people, and you suffer for it.”

“That Errgard fellow might not live,” John said. “Why he didn't ask for mercy _before_ his nose got ruined, I don't know. That was _stupid_.”

Dean smiled. “No offense, Dad, but most of you alphas _are_ stupid. Arrogance and expectation stop the learning process.”

“I can agree,” John said.

Dean got up to put more wood in the closest fireplace.

“What's the deal with the clothes you wear?” John asked. “They're not... feminine, but they're not...”

“I'm technically an omega warrior,” Dean told him, sitting back down. “The only weapon I'm allowed is the fan, so I got good with two of them.”

“You could have killed me in a second in the parlor,” John noted. “I approve.”

“Thanks.” Dean looked up and thought about Ellen's family soup recipe that used celery, heavy cream and bacon. He could play with that a little bit, and take some of the load off of his favorite omega cook this evening.

“Are you working in the kitchen?” John asked.

“I do sometimes. I like Ellen a lot, and keeping a regular staff of a hundred fed is tiring for her. She has help now, but they irritate her.” He decided to put on baby Lima beans with onions and chunks of fatty ham, because winter had a way of starving people, even the ones that ate well. “I'm been using a lot of Mom's recipes here. The servants like the peasant food. Even Cas does. He doesn't eat enough.”

John nodded. “You really care about him. Even if I couldn't see it, I could smell it. And, it's mutual. I'm glad you got someone who can protect and feed you. I know it doesn't seem like it, but I did care that much.”

“I believe you.” Dean got up again, and went to the dry goods part of the pantry to retrieve a sack of beans. He put a bowl down and began sorting them. Somehow, one had to deal with getting the occasional rock in a sack of beans. Dean didn't understand that one bit.

“Dean... Not that I need more nightmare fuel, but I believe I owe it to you to have a look at what that sonuvabitch St. Addams did to you,” John said quietly.

Dean looked at him a moment. “Dad. It won't help.”

“Please, son,” John entreated. “I have to have a full accounting, or my sins will never leave me.”

Dean nodded. He got up and locked the interior door, then the door that led out to the back lawn. “I want you to know that the other thing you see on my back was all my idea,” he said, taking off his outer kimono. “I did it so no one could ever claim me but Cas. And, he hates that I had it done. Just so you know.” He lifted his shirt, and turned to show his father the ruin of his back.

Utter silence descended. All Dean could hear was the various fires crackling as wood was consumed. Then, his father let out a pained sob. “Dean, cover up,” he whispered.

Dean let his shirt drop, and put his kimono back on. He resumed sorting rocks from beans. “It's happened to many omegas,” Dean told him. “You hate that it happened, and I get that, but what would help is if you started helping all omegas, like Cas does. Like his servants do. If you can prevent any other father from seeing that on their kid, it will be so worth it.”

“I swear, I'll do better, _be_ better,” John whispered, staring at the table top. “I don't know what was wrong with me for so long, I don't.”

“Maybe possession?” Dean asked. “I've heard that's possible. Cas' family worships the same god you do. They use the angel, Michael, on a lot of their correspondence.”

“Really?” John sat up a little and rubbed his eyes. “That's good. That's good, Dean. Do you have a copy of the Bible here?”

“What's that?” Dean asked.

“It's... It's a holy book that tells people how to act. It's hard to get now, being long out of print.” John reached into his trouser pocket, pulling out a small book. “All I could find was the New Testament. It's the reason I even saw what a stupid fucker I've been.”

“I'll ask Cas for one,” Dean said. “I can read and write, thanks to you and Mom. Sonny kept that up for me, taught me English as well as the Arcalan long-character. I know the short form, too.” He finished the first bowl and dumped it into an empty stock pot, coming back to start the second. “I can do math up to a point. I thought fractions were fun, but I hated algebra. Sonny gave up on me there, but I'm not sorry. There's no such thing as an imaginary number. Something exists, or it doesn't.”

John tilted his head towards Dean, and smiled fully. “You're so right,” he said.

Dean smiled back, just a bit, and kept sorting.

“Oh, dear Lord,” Crowley's voice called out. “Who's in the kitchen? I need ginger root!”

Dean got up and unlocked both doors. “Sorry, Crowley,” he said. “I was showing Dad my back, and I couldn't take the risk of someone walking in.”

“Quite right,” Crowley said as he strolled past John. “No one should see you so intimately but friends and family.” He went to Ellen's spice cabinet, opening it with a flourish. “This amazing woman that cooks for us greedy ingrates, keeps an astonishing fresh stock of herbs and spices,” he commented. “She's promised me I can help her expand her personal herb bed this spring. If someone can find me some pineapple sage and Thai basil, I'll cry.”

“How's the campaign for Bobby going?' Dean asked, smiling.

“I give up,” Crowley said flatly. “He's never going to get over his late wife. I'll keep him as a friend, though, because he's very interesting. I'll have to set my sights on someone else.” He plucked out a jar and set it down. “What I need is some pig-headed, hairy, halfway intelligent brute. I love the forceful ones.”

Dean laughed. “Why hasn't someone taken you yet, you slob?”

“I drive off the unworthy with a stick,” Crowley said. “Actually, no, I don't. The unworthy get a crack at me, too, because sometimes the disreputable ones have more to offer.” He turned, picked up his jar of ginger, and eyed John. “Are you drinking the cleanser?”

“I'm... due for a dose,” John admitted.

Crowley heaved a disgusted sigh. He took an envelope from his pocket, tapped powder from it into a clean cup, and deftly poured water from the constantly hot kettle that sat on Ellen's favorite stove. “You stupid man,” he said, evenly. “You need a caretaker. I'm sorry the love of your life is gone, but she'd hate you going to pieces for her sake. Drink the fecking tonic. Get better. Patch up your shit and shine, pretty. You disgrace the Maker by not living up to your potential.”

With that, Crowley vacated, humming.

“Tea tomorrow, not today!” Dean shouted after him, wondering which maid had eavesdropped on his first two encounters with his dad, and then told Crowley. It didn't really matter, but Dean liked knowing which people were the sneaks and blabbermouths.

“Noted, darling!” Crowley called back. “Get ready to tat for me, because the sweet Naomi's due, and I want to make her another gown!”

John looked at Dean. “That is some omega,” he said. “He's your friend?”

“If Cas isn't available, I sleep in his room,” Dean admitted. “He's protective of me, loyal, and mentoring. I like him a lot.”

John sipped the brew he'd been given. “You know he's a witch.”

Dean blinked. “Yes. A good one.”

John smiled. “I fully believe it.”

Dean lifted an eyebrow. “How did you know, anyway?”

“I saw the edge of a telling tattoo peeking out from his sleeve as he examined me,” John answered. “He smelled of opium and star anise. Under his left ear is a pentagram shaped scar, which is a white witch symbol. Too, he's just bold. A bold omega is one with power.”

Dean nodded once to show assent and a tiny bit of respect, which he noted made his father both sad and happy, at least by his scent. He finished sorting beans from rocks, throwing the pebbles into the fireplace closest to them. He poured boiling water onto the beans, and put them on a medium-hot section of the cook stove. Then, he retrieved a slab of bacon, a small venison roast, and six sweet onions. He collected three good knives, and sat back down.

“You are every bit the best parts of your mother,” John said, subdued and reverential. “Her smile, her cheekbones, her ears...” He paused to smile. “You walk like her, talk like her, stand like her. You even slightly smell of her. I want to cry and laugh just being with you, Dean.”

Dean knew his mother fully as far as he'd had time with her. He remembered her to her last detail. He hadn't seen her in Cas' mirror, though. Perhaps his father's love made details sharper. He cut the onions first to get the crying out of the way, and took them outside of breathing space. When he sat again to slice the bacon, he paid thought to how much a love so strong would corrupt and madden, if taken away.

It would be worth it, he decided.

\----------

Dean opened his letter from Kevin. He'd delayed as long as possible, and needed to know Kevin's status, his mind, before the boy came back.

_Dear Dean,_

_Hi. The voyage to the ancestral Novak estate was great. Shorter than the trip that got me to Sonny's, but all of the ship's crew were omegas, so I could wander, help, and learn all I wanted. I've never felt so free_.

Dean swallowed hard.

_When we got to port I was overwhelmed by the smells. Stinky fish, just-cut spices, fresh fruit and bread baking. Everywhere. I mean it. The combination was so much like my old home. Nag Champa incense burned in the sorrowing houses, the scented smoke just spilled out everywhere because the city is so big. It enlivened me, Dean. I'd forgotten that ancestors are honored. Where you come from the old people are treated as onerous burdens, but in my culture they are highly respected._

_Naomi took me to a shop that hand rolled incense, and together we purchased a goodly amount of it. Zachariah then accompanied me to a tailor's shop, and he made me a full wardrobe in three hours. From there he took me to get ice cream, which I'd never had. It was so good. He kept me right beside him, and everybody thought I was his son. I'm not ashamed that I loved that. My dad was so old and tired by the time I was born that he had no energy for me. Zachariah's shelter soothed a part of me that I didn't know I needed._

Dean stopped to cry. He couldn't help it. It was a burst of gratitude and sympathy more than sorrow, so he was able to continue after only a few minutes.

_When we got to the house I was amazed. It's so big, Dean. Full of people. They're all happy, and not that fake happy that people put on because they're trying to justify something. Everyone has a job, not too taxing, and they work because it gives them pleasure, a sense of belonging, not because it will save their lives._

_I've met Novak cousins, extended family, family friends, kinswomen and kinsmen, fourth and fifth generation servants that are as much of the Novak family as the Novaks themselves. There are babies_ _**everywhere** _ _. So many babies and children. Eating and laughing and reading books._

_This place honors the old. It enriches the new. No one is sad. It's not like Sonny's place, where we all just waited to be bought and filled in the time with learning to be a good piece of ass. Naomi and Zachariah put me in their own rooms, and hours a day I have them both. They praise me, give me all that I want or need. They have put me between them in their soft, gigantic bed, and I fall asleep every night with their hands upon my shoulders._

_Dean, I'm so happy. Your alpha's parents treat me as if I came from them. They love me. I'm getting the best education that can be bought. I eat whenever I want. I sleep so deeply now, sheltered between Naomi and Zachariah. I know that they would die or slay to protect me. I've never felt so safe in my life._

Dean lowered the letter to just sob. He cried and cried, and clutched the paper to his chest, falling down upon the bed he and Cas shared. It was the best pain he'd ever felt. He wanted to slay giants and throw himself into a sacrificial pyre to keep the goodness flowing into Kevin.

Dean lay there a good hour before Cas came in. Cas took one look at his heated face and dried tear trails, and dumped the books he held to swoop in and collect Dean in his arms. “Dean, Dean!”

“Cas...” Dean pushed the papers toward him.

Cas did take the letter. He sat and read to the end. After, he put the papers down and leaned to kiss Dean's brow. “You see why I didn't protest now, Dean? I knew what they'd do for the boy.”

“I feel so happy for him that I'm crying,” Dean said. “That's never happened to me before, not like this.”

“I'm glad that your joy unburdens you,” Cas said. “Your life, Dean, is only going to get better and better, I swear it. Someday, you'll look back upon these earlier moments and feel you're viewing a stranger, at least a little. My family and I will fix every bit of the mess that we can, help you build up and fortify the strength you've already gained.”

Dean knew that was only the truth. Good to hear, though. “You guys are so unbelievably good, Cas,” he said. “Why are you so different? Riches usually corrupt.”

“A long time ago, when my family line solidified into unity,” Cas said, “our patriarch took a vow that all of humanity would find either shelter or correction under the name Novak. That vow is passed into each generation. None of us take it lightly.”

Cas curled up behind Dean in order to simply hold him, which Dean appreciated. He drifted in the relief that comes from purging a constantly held, fearful tension.

“You invited your father to stay,” Cas murmured as he stroked Dean's forehead. “That was good of you. Perhaps you can have a relationship with him, some day.”

“He's not such a bad guy. I never thought that. He just went crazy.” Dean closed his eyes. “I've thought about it some. He knew he made a mistake, deep down, by getting rid of me. Stubborn pride kept him from immediately correcting what he did. Then, Mom died, and there he was trying to raise Sam all by himself. That had to scare him. Some people, Cas, just can't take what other people can.”

“You're so right, Dean,” Cas murmured. “And, your sense of mercy humbles me. Samandriel told me when we were in the woods that you'd said I knew what mercy was, and for him to ask for it. Because of that, I refrained from venting my spleen on him as much as I wanted to. He'd made me very, very angry, upsetting the family, harming you, and bringing shame to us.”

“Well, no getting around it, you really straightened that kid out,” Dean said. “Hot damn, I was so freaked out that seeing you all dominant hit me in my glands. If Crowley hadn't been right there with me... I don't know.”

Cas chuckled. “It's good to know I can stimulate you. I'll add this information to the file I have. I already know that washing your hair for you is good, and that you're fascinated with my knot.”

“Well, I don't have one,” Dean protested, smiling. “I have to settle for yours. You've got enough cock to divide in half, anyway.”

Their smothered little snorts of laughter lightened Dean's heart. Dean let go of everything but the feel of Cas behind him, holding him, and eventually fell asleep.

\----------

“Try this weave,” Crowley suggested, putting a new pattern down on the tatting pillow and showing Dean the beginning moves. “This used to be called Battenburg, and it's tedious as all hell, but when it's done it's to cry for.”

Dean concentrated until he got a rhythm, then looked up to check on his dad. John sat at Crowley's fireplace, quietly observing them, his eyes interested and more than a little awed. He'd watched them half finish a gown in less than an hour.

Dean thought Naomi would love this dress. Emerald green velvet with black trim, it would make her shine while being pretty decent at cutting the cold. The lace would go on the ends of the sleeves, and into the v-cut at the bosom.

“All right, pretty,” Crowley said to John, “Stand up. Let's have a look at you. If you're partying with the Novaks you need decently dressed.” He twirled his finger at Dean's dad. “Come on, don't be shy.”

John swallowed hard, and slowly stood. “You want to make me clothes?”

Crowley smirked. “Take that shirt off and let me measure you,” he said.

Dean bent over his lace, grinning. His father had no idea how to take Crowley, just none.

Crowley whistled lowly. “Well, you live a rough life, don't you? Whittled down and honed fine, with lots of cute little battle wounds. I love it.”

Dean turned, interested to see what his father's life had done to him, and saw damage very nearly on par with the mess on his own back. Scar after scar, some of them long and jagged. Healed over puncture wounds, splash patterns of burns, the works. Also, tattoos.

“Dad, what the hell do you do?” He asked abruptly.

“I hunt monsters,” John explained with his arms out so Crowley could whip a tape measure on and around him. “Your mother did, too, before we married.”

“Doesn't pay very much, does it?” Crowley asked, measuring John's wrists. “Still, I think pest extermination is a worthy thing. Too bad you hunters don't usually weed out the more disgusting of the human pests.”

“The taking of a human life is never something to treat casually,” John lectured, frowning. “I'd give the worst example of a human the benefit I won't give a creature of darkness. I'd be hunting _you_ right now, if I couldn't see you're inherently good.”

Crowley cocked his hip at John, looped the tape measure around his neck, and pulled John closer to himself. “Pretty,” he said in a drawl, smiling, “you could _try_.”

“You have got to be the boldest little omega I've ever seen,” John stated.

Crowley winked at him.

Dean coughed to break the sudden tension. “Crowley, do you mind not flirting with my dad in front of me?”

“First you wouldn't let me poison him, then you denied my turning him into a toad,” Crowley complained, “and now you won't let me entice him. There's no pleasing you.”

John gaped at Crowley. “You wanted to kill me.”

“You hurt Dean,” Crowley explained slowly, as if John was stupid. “Nobody hurts Dean, not on my watch. I'd kill Castiel if he laid a finger on Dean wrong, too, and I even happen to like him.”

John licked his lips and took a deliberate step back. “Novak's got balls to have you under his roof,” he stated.

“We have an understanding,” Crowley informed. “It's all about keeping Dean happy and healthy. Castiel would accept correction from me if he behaved badly, just as I would to him. Very simple, very clean.” He tilted his head at John, and lifted his eyebrows. “You want in?”

John stared at him a long moment. “Yeah,” he said, drawing the word out.

“Good man. I knew I could learn to like you. You have a clean slate with me now.” Crowley reached out, snagged John by the belt buckle, and pulled him close, so close that the tatting pillow wouldn't have fit between them. “I'll consider your past behavior as something you really regret, but any sign of it returning, and you'll wish you'd never been born.”

Dean thought he would pop apart. He'd had no idea Crowley felt so strongly about his safety and happiness. What a friend he had in the mouthy tailor. And, his dad bowing to an omega was just about the best thing he'd ever seen in his life. John was even showing Crowley his throat now.

“All right,” Crowley said, letting John go. “Let's decorate this hot body. I think you should be wearing a great deal of black and white, like studly Castiel. You're not the type to wear high collars and cravats, though. We need to play up that you're a rough character without making you look low born.”

“I'm not low born,” John said, scowling.

“Pay attention, pretty,” Crowley chided, holding fabric up to John's face for color compliment. “I said 'look low born', not that you actually were.”

“Why do you keep calling me that?” John asked, his low voice full of frustration.

“Why ask why?” Crowley countered. “I'm not going to stop calling you 'pretty', pretty, and you can't make me. I'm Dean's best friend, and Castiel can't live without me, so _you're fucked_.”

Dean tossed his lace down and bolted out the door. He ran to Castiel's room, shut the door, and burst into laughter. He laughed so hard and for so long he knew there wasn't any way Crowley and John didn't hear him.

\-------------

Dean was cutting up potatoes and onions to make a huge pot of potato soup when John entered the kitchen. His father had on one of the seafaring shirts Crowley had initially designed for Dean, in a rich, black jacquard. His trousers were the same shade of black, but without a pattern.

“Dean, that tailor,” John said, and Dean burst into laughter all over again. He couldn't help it.

John sat down beside him, starting to smile. “I'm being serious. Does he want me or something?”

Castiel came in the back door, brushing snow off his hat. His lips quirked up at seeing Dean laughing and John smiling. “What's funny?” He asked.

“Crowley may or may not have his sights set on my dad,” Dean managed to gasp out. “The whole 'Bobby thing' went belly up, so he's on the prowl for a real man again.”

Castiel snorted, then gave in to a full chuckle. “You could do worse, Winchester,” he said. “I won't pretend his manners are something special, but you'd never look a bit shabby.”

John covered his eyes, still smiling. “He'd gut me in my sleep,” he said. “I've never seen such an aggressive little omega in my life.”

“You have to win him over with expensive alcohol,” Cas informed. “Put a bottle or two down, and back away slowly. No sudden moves.”

John nodded, gave a little chuckle, and took one of Dean's paring knives. He started helping Dean peel and cut. “Making your mom's potato soup, boy?” He asked Dean. “It's a day for it. Cold and snowy.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Ellen's usually got a pot of soup ready any time someone comes in hungry. I just thought I'd do it for her today.”

Castiel kissed the top of Dean's head on the way by to get at his cashew jar. “I love it when the people I care for, care for each other,” he said. “You make this house so much happier, Dean.”

Dean blushed, and smiled. “I fixed you that yogurt-granola-fruit thing. It's in the ice box.”

“That is outstandingly good news.” Castiel went right for the cold storage. “What fruit did you...? Oh! Pineapple!”

“It's the last of it,” Dean warned. “Maybe your mom will bring more. Her honey is in the cellar, by the way. Bill moved it there this morning.”

“It will keep fine down there,” Cas said, sitting beside of Dean with his bowl and a spoon. “I sent word to my brother to expect trouble, did I tell you? I don't know how much of a target he might be, but he's a Novak, and he's actively aiding the poor. Plus, he's right in town where all the commotion is brewing.”

“Cas, I didn't even think about Samandriel,” Dean said, contrite. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't feel bad. I didn’t, either. I'm so used to him not actively being a part of the family issues, and his face isn't around to remind me he's a changed man.” Cas made a 'Mmmmm' sound as he took his first bite of food. “Do you want some of this?”

“No, I ate already, “ Dean informed. “I took Ruto and Sphinx for a walk early, and ate too many cashews.”

Ruto, under the table, barked at hearing his name, and John jerked in surprise.

“Holy—I had no idea he was in here,” John protested. He peered down and around, spotting Ruto at Dean's feet. “I noticed mastiffs are the main dogs you have, Novak. That's incredibly smart of you. Loyal, strong, gentle dogs, that naturally defend their family.”

“I used to breed them,” Cas said. “I got out of that, though. Friesians are my main focus now.”

John looked at Cas. “Also strong, loyal, gentle animals,” he noted.

“I think the master of the house having a beastly temper is enough,” Cas told him. “People that breed vicious animals, or make animals vicious, deserve to be destroyed by them.”

John nodded, dark eyes serious and in full agreement with Cas. “Gentlemen aren't supposed to discuss each other's temperament, but I'm not a gentleman. So, I'm asking you as a newly minted father to _please_ never.”

Dean felt surprised, and a little pleased. John was asking Cas to never take his temper out on him.

Cas swallowed a bite of yogurt, regarding John steadily. “I would die first,” he said. “Dean's life is more important than anyone else's, even my own. I won't pretend I'm not dangerous, but I'm not a risk to Dean.”

“You _couldn't_ pretend you're not dangerous,” John countered.

“I could, but a man like you wouldn't believe it,” Cas shot back, cool as anything, totally unruffled. “You're a hunter, trained to sense threats. That you've reached maturity with your occupation tells me you're a damn good one, and probably more than a little bit lucky, too. Most of the hunters in my family didn't live to see forty.”

“You said you were fishermen,” John pointed out, slightly frowning.

“Not all of us,” Castiel explained. “I asked if you wanted to see my ancestor's trophies from werewolf hunting, too. I find them extremely in poor taste, but Father insists we never forget our origins.”

“Cas,” Dean said, suddenly sick of alpha posturing, “if you would just pee in a circle around me, and be done with it? Please?”

Cas choked. He grabbed for a napkin and covered his mouth, eyes watering. Then, he sagged backward, laughing. “I'm sorry, Dean, please forgive me,” he said. “I suppose the air got a little thick in here.”

Dean smiled. “You've certainly eased into the alpha thing quick,” he observed. “When I first got here you wouldn't think of owning me at all.”

“That was before you _insisted_ ,” Cas reminded. “Before my mother schooled me.”

“That, right there,” John said, slightly pointing at Cas. “That's what made all that blood yesterday _clean_. I'd have no more stood for someone calling my mother a bitch than I'd have let someone hurt her. All those other insults were deliberate provocations toward your alpha status.”

“You noticed.” Castiel finished his food and took the bowl to the main sink. “I can let certain things slide, but not slander to my mother. I would have killed him for it, but Dean reminds me that I understand mercy. Constantly.” Again, he kissed Dean on top of his head. “I'll be upstairs if you need me. If I don't get a bath today I'm going to roll in the snow.”

Dean grinned at the mental picture. Naked, beautiful Cas, rolling around in the snow with his amazing cock flopping back and forth. “See you later, Cas.”

When they were alone again, John met Dean's eyes. “You're happy here. Safe and fed and surrounded by dangerous people who'd do anything to preserve you. I'm so thankful my mistakes haven't ruined you, Dean.”

Dean gave his father a small, honest smile. “I'm thankful you changed your mind.”

\-----------

The elder Novak invasion, eagerly anticipated by Dean, came in the wee hours of the morning, when only he and some house servants were awake. He held the door open for the masses, amazed by how many people they'd brought.

“Dean, sweetheart!” Naomi hugged him tightly, all smiles. “Oh, you look well!” She kissed his head and hugged him again. “What's different about you, dear?”

“My hair growing out, maybe?” He asked.

“No.” She put a finger to her lips and tilted her head. “You're looking me in the eyes. Fully.”

Dean instantly lowered his head. “I'm sorry.”

“No, don't be,” she coaxed. “I want you to.”

Dean slowly lifted his head again. “I... My father's here,” he said quietly as people moved around them. “He came to ask for my forgiveness. We're trying to learn each other.”

Naomi covered her mouth in shock, her eyes filling with water. “Oh, Dean,” she whispered. She dropped her hand and hugged him a third time. “Dean, that's wonderful!”

“What's wonderful?” Zachariah stage whispered, leaning in. He put his arm around Dean. “Castiel hasn't gotten you in the family way early, has he?”

Naomi slapped his arm. “Dean's father came to ask Dean's forgiveness,” she explained. “He's here.”

Zachariah sighed and looked up. “A miracle at Christmas is the perfect gift. I'm glad for you, Dean.” He hugged him one-armed. “We already had one, with Samandriel getting turned around. Where is the boy, anyway?”

“At the cathedral, with Father Sean,” Dean said. “Cas didn't tell you?”

Naomi and Zachariah stared at Dean like he'd grown another head.

“He didn't tell you,” Dean said slowly. “Um. Surprise?”

Naomi took one step forward, and fainted. Dean caught her quickly. “What do I do?” He asked Zachariah, slightly panicking.

“Put her down so you can catch me next,” Zachariah said, stumbling for a chair.

“Cas!” Dean shouted up the staircase.

Castiel and Crowley opened their doors nearly at the same time, just as a flood of house servants descended. Cas didn't even use the stairs. He hopped the railing and jumped down, taking his mother into his arms, not a bit winded by the long drop. “What happened?”

“She fainted,” Dean said. “Your dad's about to as well! I just told them Samandriel's at the cathedral with Father Sean!”

Castiel rubbed his mother's cheek with his own. “Mother? Mother?”

Naomi groaned. “Castiel... Is your brother...”

“He's not studying to be a priest,” Castiel said swiftly. “He's living with Sean in order to help the poor.” He carried his mother to a low divan in the receiving room, and carefully stretched her out on it.

“What happened?” Kevin asked, and Dean hadn't even known he'd come into the room.

Dean turned and hugged him so hard he lifted him from the floor. “I guess I just gave your new parents the best news of their lives,” he whispered. “Their problem child is now helping poor people.”

Kevin wormed his way out of Dean's grip only to hug him back. “That's great,” he said. “Naomi and Zachariah were so worried about Samandriel they talked about him the entire voyage.”

“Castiel, what did you _do_ to Dre?” Zachariah asked weakly.

“Basic correction, then let him attend the charity drive,” Cas answered, stroking his mother's cheek. “He mostly fixed himself. Dean was a large influence, too.”

Crowley walked past the knots of people. “Clear out, some of you,” he demanded. “You're taking the air from the room.” He had a little bottle in his hands, and opened it to wave under Naomi's nose.

Naomi came to with a jerk, eyes wide. “Thank you,” she gasped out to Crowley. “I haven't fainted in my life.”

“That's not true,” Zachariah said. “You fainted when you read Castiel's letter about finding an omega.”

“I didn't _faint_ ,” Naomi snapped. “I got woozy.” She allowed Castiel to help her to sit up, and instantly grabbed his hands. “Oh, Castiel, is it really true? Samandriel is living with Father Sean and helping the poor?”

“Yes, Mother,” Castiel said, slightly smiling. “It was his idea, too. We shall all have to go see him together, but not without guards.”

“We brought them,” Zachariah said. “They're flanking the manor and the cabins right now. Any new developments?”

Castiel cleared his throat. “I may have slightly... disfigured... Cornelius Errgard.”

“No loss,” Zachariah said calmly. “I trust you had a reason?”

“He and a contingent of landed alphas rode up here with their swords showing in their scabbards, thinking to intimidate me into stopping the relief aid to the poor,” Castiel answered. “I disabused them of their authority.”

“Errgard insulted Madam Naomi,” Dean said, watching Zachariah's eyes go cold and dark.

“I'll go finish what Castiel started,” Zachariah growled, standing up, enervated by the affront.

“No, you won't,” Naomi said. “Not right now. Let's try to have a good Christmas. Dean has a new hope with his father, we have Kevin, and Samandriel is penitent. Let's not shed any blood unless we have to.”

“Yes, dear,” Zachariah agreed, but Dean saw he was furious, barely keeping control. The smell of him was pure wrath.

Crowley took Dean and Kevin by the shoulders and began leading them upstairs. “Let's leave the alpha representation to talk,” he suggested. “My, Kevin, you look splendid in that white kimono.”

“It's authentic,” Kevin told him. “I haven't had to launder it yet, and I'm afraid to.”

“Yes, well, I'm perfectly capable of sewing it back up the right way, so don't worry about that while you're here.” Crowley petted Kevin's head. “Have you been enjoying becoming the new darling of the Novak family?”

“I'm happier than I've ever been,” Kevin said quietly.

\--------------

John's introduction to Cas' parents took an unexpected road. After talking to John privately for about thirty minutes, Zachariah took him out for a walk. They looked neutral enough to Dean, but he started worrying a little bit once he lost sight of them.

“Dean, darling, Zach isn't going to flay him,” Naomi said. “We're in accordance, and I know when my husband has taken an interest in someone. He's figured out what your father is, and wants to talk about things such as killing monsters.” She shook some wrinkles out of a dress and hung it up.

Dean, helping her to unpack, heaved a short sigh. “I'm glad. I want all of my family getting along. It was the entire basis of the obi I made for marrying Cas.”

“Which is with my stockings,” Naomi informed. “You're going to need it in about a week. Are you excited?”

“Yeah. I want this.” Dean found the obi and unwound it. Again, he detected no flaws. “Cas... Cas told me that it would be up to me when we had children. I'm flip-flopping between begging him on our wedding night, and waiting awhile. I...” Dean blushed and looked out the window a moment or two, to get the right words to say.

“I can take it if you want to be frank,” Naomi said gently. “Being an alpha female, I've heard it all, sweetheart.”

Dean side-railed at that statement. “What does... Males have a knot, but females...”

“Females clamp down and keep a man inside them,” Naomi said. “You wouldn't believe the mutual satisfaction between two alphas when one is male and one isn't. The internal tug of war is amazing.”

Dean rubbed his flaming face and looked down, a stupid smile stretching his mouth. “Wow.”

Naomi laughed. “You're so cute.” She reached over to fondly pat his cheek. “I know what you want to talk about, dear. You want children, and you want my son to knot you. That's perfectly normal and healthy.”

Dean closed his eyes, and relaxed. “Good. See... He's never...”

Naomi looked at Dean, wide-eyed. “My son has never knotted anyone?” She whispered.

Dean's smile felt like a wince. “He never... It didn't pop for him with other people. Me, all I seem to have to do is touch him, and he's sporting.”

Naomi rested a knuckle over her lips, eyes sparkling. Dean could see her desperately trying not to laugh. She dropped her hand suddenly, and cleared her throat. “Well. Indeed. I take it you do know this personally?”

“We've explored a little,” Dean confessed. “I'm a regular mess a lot of the time, and he's not pushy, but sometimes we align and just need each other.”

“Of course you do,” Naomi said sweetly, even a little sadly. “Well, are you afraid he's going to lack control, or...?”

“No, I'm afraid we're _both_ going to bungle something, because everything's been perfect so far,” Dean said. “Cas doesn't do a whole lot of intimate touching because he's afraid he'll overwhelm me, and I do the same thing, but for some different reasons.”

“Oh.” Naomi sat on her bed and looked out into space, thinking. “My dear little Castiel, who takes everything to heart and never wanted what others wanted... Never made sport of other people's misfortunes, never whored or gambled or drank heavily. And, who _never_ played at love...”

Naomi put her forehead in her hand, and sighed. “Such an angel, my boy. He's probably afraid he's going to hurt you. I should have anticipated that. But, honestly, you were such an amazing match for him it never occurred.” She stood, and took Dean's hands. “Dean, thank you. I can speak to him in such a way that he'll be grateful you came to me with this. I promise.”

Dean initiated a hug, which he got with warmth and gentleness. He left Naomi and went upstairs to see Crowley.

Crowley was at the hall window seat with a tea setting. He smiled up at Dean, and when he saw Dean's face, tilted his head at him. “I was going to make an off color joke about coveting your father, but I can see it's not appropriate. What's wrong, buttercup?”

“I'm too innocent and Cas is too innocent, and I don't want our wedding night to be a disaster, and I'm afraid I'm going to beg for his knot, and that he won't be able to say no,” Dean spilled. “I just dumped all of that on his kind, beautiful mother, and she's going to talk to him, and now I'm afraid Cas will be upset that I went to her.”

Crowley blinked. “You never have simple problems. You're a _terrible_ best friend. So much maintenance.” He poured Dean a cup of tea. “Sit.”

Dean sat, and drank a few sips.

“First off, Castiel is never going to be upset if you seek his mother, not for any reason under the sun, not even for something that intimate,” Crowley said, and Dean could have kissed him for the instant relief his words gave. “If he did, he'd be a hypocrite, because I heard him talking to his father about much the same thing not two hours ago. They were stupidly standing over an air duct in Castiel's room, and that duct joins with the one in mine.”

“Oh God,” Dean whispered. “You heard me and Cas-.”

“Vocal, the pair of you,” Crowley said. “I had to flee to the outdoor privy and beat my meat like a teenager.”

Dean's face erupted in flames, or at least it felt like it.

“I staggered out of the privy twelve pounds lighter, just in time to see you two coming back from the laundry house with fresh bedding. That was typical of Castiel, not allowing you to clean all that up by yourself.” Crowley took a noisy sip of tea. “Now, as for the concern about the knot. Don't worry. I'll give you a contraceptive so you can enjoy it without worry. Also, Castiel might be sexually a touch on the innocent side, but he's also exceptionally smart. Trust him to figure out what needs done. He's not going to hurt you.”

Dean forced a nod.

“While we're up here, away from everyone and _not_ positioned over an air vent, I want to tell you a few things,” Crowley went on. “That pineapple Castiel likes so much? Keep him supplied in it somehow, because it's going to make his come taste amazing.”

Dean's tea cup began to rattle on the saucer. He held it down.

“Eventually, darling, you're going to want him to knot your mouth,” Crowley prattled on, seemingly unaware of what chaos his words created in Dean. “With the right person, that's an amazing experience, just amazing. So intimate. The riches and favors he's going to heap upon you afterward will make your head spin, because no alpha can resist getting their big cock sucked. I swear this on everything I know.”

“I... Crowley, I couldn't,” Dean said.

“Nonsense,” Crowley deflected. “Don't be a coward.”

“It's not that,” Dean hissed harshly. “ _He's too fucking big_. I couldn't possibly stuff all of him down far enough to get his knot behind my teeth!”

Crowley, hand poised with the cup to his mouth, darted his eyes at Dean. “Are you serious?” He asked.

Dean showed him with his hands how long and how wide.

Crowley put his cup down with a sharp 'clink' and stared out the window. Two minutes went by. Suddenly, he sat up. “You're going to have to practice,” he announced. “I'll make you a falsey. Once you can eliminate the gag reflex, it's smooth sailing. You won't even taste the come, actually, because it'll all just shoot straight down your throat. No way am I going to let you miss out on the pleasure an alpha gives out after mouth knotting.”

“You are so _filthy_ ,” Dean whispered, awed.

“Thank you.” Crowley resumed his tea. “Pass that on to your _delicious_ daddy, would you? He could use a good blow.”

Dean, shivering, drew his legs up and hugged them.

“If I make you the fake cock tonight, and if you get to practicing, you should be able to safely and comfortably swallow Long Dong Silver on your wedding night. I suggest you do it, Dean. It's a perfect omega surrender, very symbolic, and will satisfy both of you deeply. You'll be able to try and take his knot in your ass later, with all that pressure off you both.”

Dean suddenly felt a lot more interested in what Crowley had to say. Well, he already had a case of horrible fascination going on, but... “You really think it's gonna impress Cas if I do what you say?” Dean asked. “I mean, really?”

“You poor, innocent dear,” Crowley said, tsking. “If you suck the come out of him and _ask_ him to shoot down your throat, you're both going to be so turned on that we won't see you for days. At least.” Crowley smiled at him. “Decided where you're going for the honeymoon yet?”

“I want to be at the boat house he gave me,” Dean said. “It's private, but still close to the house. Traveling in winter sucks, and now we have cruel people trying to take the Novak family down. It just seems wiser to stay here. Besides, I want to be around my friends and family.”

“Mm.” Crowley eyed him kindly. “The distinction between the two is getting harder to define, isn't it? Even I, a disagreeable tailor with a basic lack of respect, have made a few friends. That's new. I blame Castiel.” He blinked rapidly a few times, suddenly. “Although, with what you've told me, I have to blame _you_ for the surety of sexy dreams bothering me for awhile. Holy hell, is he really that big?”

Dean nodded.

Crowley laughed. “The day of his birth, I'll bet Zachariah paraded around like a king, waving his son's genitals in people's faces.”

Actually, Dean could easily imagine that.

 


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alpha hunger is insatiable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING. DANGER, DANGER, WILL ROBINSON!
> 
> My faithful beta wasn't able to send me back a polished work, so we may have to edit this later. Also, if you didn't pay attention to the tags on this fic, please go back and have a look. Some of you may find this chapter very disturbing. There is a 'kink factor' involved. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading and reviewing. I didn't expect so much support, but I do love it.
> 
> Lastly, my internet is buggy, so I am probably going to get a little sporadic. I've had my router replaced, but it didn't fix the problem. I don't know what's going on, and Frontier is being dodgy about the issue.

The family dining room, in the east wing, Dean hadn't seen before. Castiel had the head of the table, being the master of the manor. Dean sat on his nice, cushioned stool at Castiel's right, and Naomi was at the first real chair on the right. Zachariah sat at Castiel's left, balancing out the power. Samandriel, fetched from town by Bobby and other servants, sat beside his father. Kevin stayed close to Naomi. Dean's father occupied the other end of the table.

It was the first private, family meal Dean had ever experienced since leaving his home fourteen years ago.

They had a rich lobster bisque for starters, and Dean asked Cas with his fans if he could be spoon fed. “Certainly,” Castiel acquiesced, looking surprised. Then, his eyes slid down to John. “Oh,” he added. “Yes, Dean, I see your point. That's kind of you. Thank you for the reminder.” He spooned some up and carefully, so carefully got it to Dean's mouth without spilling even the smallest amount. He smiled as Dean made an approving noise. “You make the food taste twice as good with how you react, not to mention your mere presence.”

“The two of you are heart-breakingly adorable,” Naomi commented. “Samandriel, how are you faring?”

“Good, Mother,” Samandriel answered politely. “Father Sean and I have been arranging a library near the back of the cathedral with the idea of teaching people how to read. It's very exciting, choosing the books and arranging them.”

“Oh, I suppose it would be!” Zachariah said. “Donated books for now?”

“Yes. You can't imagine there _are_ many,” Samandriel said, his face pulling into a frown. “I know that reading and writing took a downturn after The Calamity, but it's discouraging and criminal that the interest or ability continues to fly along like a blue-breasted kike instead of higher up with the eagles.”

“Damn,” Dean heard his father say. “This entire family has perfect elocution.”

Naomi laughed lightly. She lifted her wine glass at John, who in turn lifted his water glass. Dean hadn't seen him touch alcohol since being told not to.

Dean had another measure of soup. He swallowed, and grinned up at Cas, who winked at him.

“Mother insisted we have good educations,” Samandriel said. “I'm only sorry I wasted mine being a colossal libertine and self-indulgent bounder. I have so many people to apologize to that I'm paralyzed with where to start.” He put his napkin down, sighing. “No, I do know where to start.” He looked over at his mother. “Mother, please forgive me for being a constant source of pain. You suffered greatly to bring me into the world, and it never stopped. My entire life has just been you, in labor, trying to push out an adult.”

Naomi, a hand over her mouth, nodded swiftly at Samandriel. “You're forgiven, Dre,” she whispered.

Samandriel bowed his head a moment before turning to face his father. “Father, please forgive me for the shame I have heaped upon your head like so much steaming offal. I prevented you from standing upright in public. I didn't understand that until my own brother had to take control and push me down to the floor with his boot.”

Zachariah smiled a bit tremulously, and put his hand on Samandriel's shoulder. “I can stand upright again. You're forgiven, son.”

Samandriel slumped a little bit. “I'm not done,” he whispered. He stood so Dean could see him better. “Dean, please accept my deepest apologies for assuming anything about you whatsoever. I had no right. No right at all. Every time I see an underprivileged, proud omega come into the cathedral, I have to think about you and the disgusting display I made of myself in the kitchen here.”

Dean got up so he could bow toward Samandriel.

Samandriel leaned on the table, and slowly turned his attention to Kevin. “Kevin, You are so far above the conniving omegas in the gaming hells I've wasted my life in. I frightened you in a place you were just beginning to consider a safe home. I can't be forgiven for that. I'm not asking it of you.”

“Nevertheless, you have my pardon,” Kevin said. “People change. If I turn into a conceited jackass, remind me of that.”

Soft, relieved laughter went around the table.

Dean sat back down, wondering how Samandriel could possibly top any of the apologies he'd made so far, because he had one to go.

“Brother,” Samandriel addressed quietly, with unmistakable reverence. “All my life I've envied you for being born better than me. I couldn't see the advantages I had, or my own talents, only yours. That takes an enormous amount of denial and arrogance, especially as you have never once acted against me. Even the punishments you gave were for my benefit. You must have hated every second of pain you gave me, but you still carried on. Now, _**that**_ is the lesson in envy I can safely indulge. If I could be like you, make you proud of me, then I would be my own man.”

Dean was facing Castiel, so he got to see every nuance of Castiel's subtly changing face, from the soft and familiar title of 'brother', all the way to the end when Samandriel confessed he wanted to be just like him. And, even before Cas opened his mouth, Dean knew exactly what he was going to say.

“You can be better than me,” Castiel told him. “And, I'm already proud of you, Dre.”

Samandriel sat down and looked at his soup bowl. “I feel gutted,” he announced. “Someone make a silly joke.”

Everyone laughed, deep laughter full of relief and joy.

Dean saw his father raise his hand.

“I hate nesting dolls,” John said. “They're so full of themselves.”

Laughter just exploded.

After that, the mood became absolutely buoyant. Dean enjoyed having Naomi briefly but regularly combing her fingers through his hair while Cas fed him. They had smoked Asian carp on flat bread with cream cheese for the second course.

Dean loved it. It was so good. He couldn't believe how good. He understood now why Naomi liked the same on whole wheat. A little heat would meld the flavors. He made a mental note to tell Ellen she was a genius, and to suggest heating the bread next time. He told Cas with his fans that his mother knew quality, explaining the conversation that occurred before about a similar recipe.

Cas cocked his head. “Mother, Dean has just pointed out to me that your favorite food is his own new favorite. He loves this.”

“Oh, I knew he was perfect,” Naomi commented. “Dean, you should try chicken salad made with those beautiful black grapes Castiel grows here for everybody, not the white grapes he uses for wine. I promise you that you can eat tubs of the stuff. I'll leave you my personal recipe.” She kissed his head. “Off topic, I'm not sure about your hair, dear.”

Laughing, Dean told her he intended to have Crowley cut it.

“Yes, I'm sure the clever tailor can do a good job,” Naomi mused. “John, I heard he's made a bid for you.”

John strangled on a sip of water. “I wasn't quite sure,” he admitted after a moment. “First he wanted to kill me, then he wanted to kiss me.”

Zachariah's laugh resounded through the room. “Crowley?” He asked. “He's an irrepressible little thing. I like him. His eyes linger on my wife well enough to know how to fit her perfectly for clothing without ever having once touched her. How can I take offense when someone knows quality?”

Castiel looked upward a moment in helpless surrender. He fed Dean another piece of the flat bread covered in mellow cheese and smoked fish. “If he's made an open declaration of peace, John, then you're safe,” he said. “If he's accepted booze as an apology, you're safe.”

“I don't know about that,” John muttered. “He's got me by the balls, figuratively. I think he just wants to round off the experience with a literal interpretation.”

Dean desperately held onto his humor. He told Cas silently that Crowley had wanted him to deliver a message to his father. Then, he explained just what.

Castiel stared at him a second before offering Dean a drink of wine. “Do you really want me to relate that in polite company?” He asked quietly.

'No', Dean told him. 'I just wanted you to know about it'.

“Good, because I have no idea how to express it,” Castiel said. “The fact you could with your fans amazes me almost as much as the fact I understood you.”

“You've gotten _so_ good at it, dear,” Naomi praised, breaking in. “John, Crowley wished Dean to convey a message to you. He's apparently _filthy_ and thinks you need a good blow.”

“Fuck!” John barked.

Samandriel and Kevin collapsed into juvenile giggling. Zachariah had to brace himself on the table to keep from keeling over with laughter. Castiel's face had taken on the hue of a sunburn. Dean sent him a silent apology even while grinning.

It was the best supper of Dean's life.

\---------

“A good host always obeys the manners of the least mannered person seated,” Castiel said as he removed his dinner coat. “That is a bit of high-handedness in and of itself, for it presupposes one isn't dining with absolute swine. Still, my mother's bow to your father's preference of plain speech certainly livened up the meal.” He tossed his coat to a chair and rubbed his eyes. “Dean, is Crowley really after your father?”

“I would have to make a guess at 'yes',” Dean said. He got up and took the cover off of the air vent, stuffing a handy a blanket down into the shaft.

“What are you doing?” Castiel asked.

Dean put the grate back over, and stomped it down. “Crowley heard us in here the other night. He told me he had to go relieve himself outside when he started getting our... vocalizations.”

Cas groaned, and thumped his head against the nearest wall. “I'd call him a pervert, but humans are designed to get 'in the mood' as fast as possible.”

Dean walked over to the tub and stared disrobing. “I loved the meal,” he confessed. “It felt so good to have your wonderful family with us, and with my dad there. I... I felt almost complete. Closest it's ever come.”

“I'm glad, Dean,” Cas said with feeling. “It was an emotional supper, I know. My brother...” He shook his head. “My parents could die in their sleep tonight feeling content. That is a great gift to give to anyone.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, entering the hot water. “Favorite son getting hitched to a good omega, second son repentant, all of us together and well fed. They must feel so relieved.”

“Years of emotional turmoil gone before their very eyes,” Cas mused as he got in, too. He let out a long breath and relaxed backward against the smooth, hot metal. “Did you eat enough, Dean? You progressively got slower with your eating.”

“I started thinking about a conversation I had with your mom, and wound myself up some,” Dean admitted. “I'll want a lot of breakfast.”

Castiel's eyes had shut, but he cracked them open at hearing what Dean said. “I had a talk with my father, and from what I gather, we had nearly the same discussion. My father told me I had performance anxiety, and to not treat our wedding night any differently than what we usually do. My mother told me you were frightened for us both, and that I needed to make our wedding night about intimacy instead of sex.”

Dean scratched his head, a bit embarrassed. “So... They gave the same advice.”

Cas smiled tiredly. “They did. We shall bow to their wisdom.”

“Sounds good to me,” Dean said, thinking of what Crowley had said. The more he considered it, the more he thought the filthy-minded tailor had given out salient points. “I've got something I want to do for you, then. But, it's not... It's not full-on.”

Cas found the soap and began to make lather, looking right at Dean with curiosity and open-minded consideration. “Anything you wish, Dean,” he promised. “I'm already so pleased to have you here to speak to, to share my life, I would grant anything to you within my power.”

Sometimes, Cas really broke Dean's heart. People just weren't made like Cas.

Dean leaned forward, keeping Cas' eyes, and smiled. “For starters, let's get everything that we need for a few days of living, moved into the boat house,” he said. “Once I have the fullest permission to get to know you, I don't want one damn thing in between us.”

Castiel smiled back, warm and delighted. His entire body from his face to his curling toes, which were against Dean's thighs, projected approval. “I thought the same thing,” he said. “Do we want meals brought to us, or do we want to rough it?”

“I'll take care of that part,” Dean vowed. “I'm going to cook for the two of us. I've been making meal plans in my head off and on for days. If you would get us a good bed in there before the wedding is over, that would be great.”

“Any objection to the one we use now?' Cas asked, soaping up his arms one after the other.

“You have a great bed. This one is perfectly okay.” Dean made a mental aside to remember and take the necklace off of the bed post before then.

“I was conceived and born in that bed,” Cas informed. “Every year, when the servants break the mattress apart, wash the shell and re-stuff it with fresh padding, I think about that. Mother should never have told me.”

Dean huffed a laugh. “Crowley promised to give me a contraceptive so we could have fun if we wanted with no risk. So far, so good. It's a 'when' and not an 'if' for the children, Cas. So, we're carrying on a fine institution with your bed.”

Cas bit his lower lip. His eyes filled with some powerful and mysterious emotion closely related to worship. “Dean... You want my children?”

Dean wanted to cover Castiel and protect him from all things painful, just like Naomi wanted to do with Kevin. Why would Cas think Dean wouldn't want his babies? The sharp hurt of that stabbed through Dean, down to the center of his heart.

Castiel _really_ thought of himself as an animal, a brute. Something perilous and base.

That was why he'd resisted all the efforts his parents made to getting properly married.

It hit Dean like a bolt of lightening.

Dean knew he had to be fucking careful with what he said in the next few seconds, and that if he didn't answer perfectly in those same seconds, that he'd _fail_ Castiel.

“Cas,” Dean said, leaving his side of the tub and draping himself over his alpha's body, lining them up as gently and intimately as he could. Dean got his arms up. He wound one behind Cas at the shoulders to drag his fingers through Cas' short, chaotic hair. The other he put on Cas' chest, so he could rest his cheek on his jaw.

“Cas, I've _always_ wanted children,” Dean said, speaking against Cas' neck. “My mother saw that in me, I now know just from looking back upon the past with a different perspective. She gave me lessons. Kind, gentle, simple lessons on how to take care of little babies. Everything from how hard it would be to endure pregnancy, _both views_ , all the way to giving my child the best of me without crippling it with my own crap.”

“Oh,” Cas said after a moment. “That was good of your mother. Preparing you for however you presented.”

“Yeah, it was,” Dean agreed. “She didn't assume that I'd be better or worse at being a parent because of what happened when pubescence hit. And, since Dad was always out trying to find a way to bring meat to the table, he never saw that Mom was giving me the best she could offer from all three sides of the game. Mom was a beta.”

“Oh,” Castiel said again in a tone of interested wonder.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “She was super smart, so sweet, and she loved me and Sam and Dad. She had me four years before Sammy was born. I got all of her attention until then, watched her cook and clean and keep the house in order, helped her as much as I could, learned to read and write the way she was taught. It was the golden time of my life.”

“And, she instilled and encouraged you to have your own offspring,” Cas extrapolated.

“More than that,” Dean said, relaxing down and putting his head on Cas' hard, sculpted shoulder. “She showed me there wasn't anything more important than planning your children. She explained just by her own example that any child not planned for is a disadvantaged burden, and born wrongly, and that any kid planned for and anticipated is a gift given because of denying yourself a quick and easy thrill.”

Cas gave a shuddering exhale, and leaned their heads together. “I wish I could have known her. I might be given the chance, someday. The way you paint her makes me want to fall down at her feet, Dean.”

“Yeah, see?” Dean asked. “Dad didn't fall apart because he's a dick. He didn't go fucking crazy because he's simple. He lost the love of his life, and he's not yet recovered from it. He talks about how much I look like Mom because he's _always_ seen it, and I'm just a reminder that he's half a man now. He needed her, and she got taken from him. It's _terrible_ , Cas.”

“It is,” Castiel agreed, pulling them closer, smelling Dean's hair. “He's grieving. I saw that immediately, I just didn't know the exact cause.”

“Yeah,” Dean rather exhaled. “I can't think you're going to be anything but a perfect dad. So, my own nature insists I have your kids. We don't have to do it right this fucking second, but...”

Dean wrapped his fingers around Castiel's shoulder while sliding his other hand down to cup his alpha's balls. “But, I _want_ your babies,” he confessed. “I _couldn't_ get a better man to father my children.”

Castiel, rigid with attention to this very point, suddenly crumpled. “Dean...”

Dean pushed his face against Castiel's cheek. “You're so sweet, Cas,” he said. “Please don't think of yourself as a beast, because you're not. To me, you're a balance. Gracious and mild by your very nature, but stern and lawful when its called for. That's not bad, _at all_ , any way you look at it.”

Cas pulled them together, holding Dean as close as he could. Breathing hard, he clutched Dean to himself. “I hope you never change your mind about me,” he said, almost inaudible.

They lay there until the bath got uncomfortable. Silent, they got out. Dean dried off and put on a pair of thick cotton trousers. The bed felt good when he got in it.

Cas checked the timepiece on the wall, then put on a pair of pants. “I need to visit my parents for about a half hour,” he murmured. “Do you want me to lock you in?”

“Absolutely,” Dean answered. He wasn't very confident about sleeping alone. “See you in a little while, Cas.”

“Yes,” Cas said, and he left. He locked the door.

Dean listened to him going downstairs, to the crackling fire and the ticking clock. His mood, while generally hopeful, just wouldn't elevate him higher. Cas was worried about how he measured up. That astounded and dismayed Dean.

\-------

Dean chose a red, red apple, and ate it while staring out the back window of the kitchen. All that snow... Still coming down after three days, piling up higher and higher. It didn't do this at Sonny's. It was beautiful, too. All those green pines heavily laden with brilliant white clumps, branches moving as the weight of the snow steadily increased. Every few minutes Dean could watch some snow sliding to the ground, and he wished he could hear the soft 'whumph' of it hitting.

“Dean?”

Dean jerked in surprise. He hadn't heard Zachariah come in. “Hi, Zachariah,” he said, dropping all forms of title, and hoping it was okay.

Zachariah smiled. “I wondered when you'd feel comfortable enough to stop using the pretty titles.” He held out a very thick, beautiful cloak of yellow green, and a pair of Cas' boots. “Would you walk outside with me?”

“Sure.” Dean held the apple in his teeth while putting the boots on. He admired the cloak a moment before donning it.

Zachariah put on his own cloak, and they left.

Dean finished his apple as Zachariah led him toward the lake. When Dean glanced back at the house he saw five heavily armed men, following them at a polite distance. He noticed only then that Zachariah had a heavy saber strapped to himself, and felt kind of stupid for missing that.

“My son doesn't have cold feet,” Zachariah said. “He thinks he's not worthy of you. That's his problem.”

“I know, and there's nothing I can say to change his mind,” Dean said, spilling out his frustration. “How could he think such a thing? He's smart, handsome, generous and rich, and he's got a great family. What the hell more does he need?”

Zachariah stopped at Dean's balance beams, and looked up at them. “Humanity,” he answered. “My son doesn't think of himself as human. I suppose you've noticed how he focuses on people?”

Dean had. Cas talked about humans as if he didn't belong in their numbers. “Yes. But, he's the most human of anyone I've ever known!”

“Is he really?” Zachariah asked. “Do you know many human beings with his level of caring? His level of dedication to servants? How many people can you count that you've known with even a tenth of his honesty?”

“I get your point,” Dean said. “If he's not including himself with other people, he tries harder to be human.”

“Exactly. My son has always been on the outside looking in. He's never been ordinary.” Zachariah swept snow off the lowest beam so they could sit on it, and look toward the lake, which was steadily freezing over. “The way he's acting right now tells me he never expected to sire children, and that it's just now sinking in that his amazing omega, soon to be his husband, is going to need them. He's frightened he'll put a monster in your belly, Dean.”

“Cas isn't a monster,” Dean whispered, tears starting up. His eyes were sore from holding the water in all night long, and now they insisted. “He's _perfect_.”

“Yes, he is,” Zachariah agreed. “Complete perfection. That frightens him, too.”

“What am I going to do?” Dean asked. “Is there anything I _can_ do?”

“You can wait a year or two for the first child,” Zachariah said. “By then, Dean, he may not feel so much fear. He came down to see me and his mother last night, and poured out to us his frantic mind. The last thing he wants to do is disappoint you, and when you spoke of children together, all his internalized worrying finally touched down. He couldn't avoid his conflicting urges anymore.”

“I understand,” Dean said. “He's an alpha, and he does want to breed me. That's in his nature. But, he's resisted taking an omega for a long time. He wants to please you and Naomi by having the children that will carry on the Novak line, too. And, he knows I want kids. Tie all that up and throw it at him...” Dean sighed. “You know, I can wait for the children,” he said. “But, after what I said to him last night, he's going to know something's up if I say I want to wait.”

“Yes. I'm going to order him to hold off on children for at least one year,” Zachariah said. “He can't argue with the importance of finding the perfect, most skilled physician for you, Dean, and that's the reason I'm giving him. I'm not lying to him that way, and neither are you. Male births are typically tricky.”

Dean nodded his assent. “Oh, we're going to have to be so careful,” he said. “My heat cycle, his rut cycle...”

“At least you have a capable witch in the house,” Zachariah said. “But, Dean, relying upon natural contraception will up your risks. The only absolute way to prevent pregnancy is to not have sex. At least, not the kind that involves penetration.”

“I'm... I'm going to be a virgin for another year,” Dean said. “That's typical of my life. I resisted a bunch of different alphas, determined to preserve myself. Then, I get bought by the perfect one, and I'm still not going to lose my virginity.”

“I'm very sorry, Dean,” Zachariah said. “I'd throw you underneath my son in a heartbeat, if I could.” He paused. “That didn't sound good at all.”

Dean snorted out a laugh.

“So sorry,” Zachariah said. “But, you have to know we all look at you as the perfect person for Castiel's seed. Your quality couldn't be more obvious. It's almost as if you were born for him. Even your own father, who has so much trouble with this arrangement and your designation, can see it.”

“He knows not to put up a fuss,” Dean said. “He's working for my forgiveness.”

“Will he get it?” Zachariah asked.

“Yeah, eventually. I'm not deliberately holding a grudge, or telling myself bad things about him. That's petty and stupid. It's just going to take awhile to work through what happened to me.”

Zachariah smiled. “Castiel is perfectly correct to refer to you as the righteous man.”

“I'm not so sure about that,” Dean replied.

“I am.” Zachariah took out his pocket watch. “He'll be back from his ride in about twenty minutes, which gives me enough time to ask you just what the _hell_ he did to Samandriel.”

Dean let out a long breath. “He beat him down, dragged him into the woods and made him rely upon him for food and shelter and protection for a week. Then, he dragged him back to the manor on a choke chain. He fed him with a dog bowl, under the table.”

“Lord have mercy,” Zachariah said.

“That's not all,” Dean said. “He had him on a point system. He gave points for good behavior, and took points away for bad. And, Samandriel knew that if he ever reached zero, Cas was gonna cut off all the fingers on the left hand. He'd have done it, too. Then, he made him help the rest of us take food and stuff to the poor people in town. That's what finally broke Samandriel, that and seeing a starving woman die right in front of him. He curled up in the bottom of the cart and cried like a baby.”

Zachariah rubbed his forehead. “Well, Castiel succeeded where his mother and I could not. Samandriel is completely a new man. Naomi and I slept better last night than we have since his birth, even with Castiel's problems hanging over us.”

Dean got up and stretched. “Will Cas really hold off on kids because you order it? I mean, discounting the whole thing about my safety.”

“My son has never disoeyed me, not once in his life,” Zachariah said, also rising. “That is why I so seldom order him to do anything. I know that he would do whatever I said, and I can't be responsible for that kind of power.”

Dean met Zachariah's eyes, then. “He's totally the strongest person I've ever known.”

Zachariah nodded. “Yes. Consider that he was that strong before even hitting puberty. That's when I discovered I should never encourage his penchant for violence.  I made that mistake once. I was proud of my strong, alpha son, and insisted he correct the people he encountered that were doing evil things.”

“That's what he goes to the Alpha Arrangement for,” Dean said. “To murder bad guys.”

“And, it's my fault,” Zachariah said. “I could order him to stop, and he would, but I don't know what it might do to him. So, I don't take the risk of making that mistake even worse.”

\----------

Dean ate lunch, not knowing where Cas was. He'd seen him come back from his ride on Brave, with guards riding behind. After that, Zachariah had left the house to intercept.

Dean didn't know if he'd ever been so depressed. Busy work didn't help. What he ate sat in his stomach like a pile of rocks. He decided to go find his father.

John was sitting in his parlor, staring at an unopened bottle of the manor's wine. Dean nearly turned right back around, but decided at the last second not to. He sat on the floor beside his father's chair. They stared at the wine together.

“It's very hard,” John said at last.

“I guess so, Dad.” Dean didn't know what it was like to fend off an addiction. No, maybe he did. That week Cas was mysteriously gone had set him into very low spirits.

Addicted to Cas.

Wow.

“You seem very sad,” John said. “All these people here that love you, and you're sad?”

“Zachariah expects it's going to take a year to find a doctor he trusts to look after me,” Dean told him. “So, I'll have to wait a long time to start having children.”

John turned his head to look down at him. “Dean, that's... That's important to you, I can see. I didn't know you wanted children.”

“Mom never said?” Dean asked.

“No. She was probably afraid that mentioning it to me would set me off, seeing as how you were so young, and it would indicate you were an omega. And, she was right.” John bowed his head. “You know, the part of this that hurts me the most, besides what I did to you and missing Mary, knowing I failed her, is the fact that if I had to do it all over again, I'd still have to. Because, you became someone amazing.”

Dean felt both seriously unimpressed and gratified at the same time. Off balance a little, he gave his dad his best flat look.

John cringed. “I stuck my foot in my mouth. Sorry, Dean. Of course I wouldn't abandon you again.”

Dean got up and gave his father a single pat on the shoulder. “Good talk,” he said wryly. “Don't open that bottle.”

John nodded.

Okay, talking to John had been a failure.

Dean went to Castiel's bedroom and found him there, on his knees with his hands clasped together. His eyes were shut.

Dean quietly closed the door, and sat down on the bed. Whole minutes ticked by with Castiel unmoving, Dean watching and wondering. Castiel's eyes gradually opened. He spied Dean sitting there, and blinked.

“I didn't hear you enter.”

“I guess not.”

Dean could see that Zachariah had given Castiel his order. “Your father already told me I'd have to wait,” Dean said. “You don't have to figure out how to break it to me. I'm mostly okay.”

“You're not,” Castiel said, shaking his head. He seemed about to cry. “You're heartbroken.”

Dean looked away so Cas wouldn't see the sudden burst of tears immediately. “Can we pretend I'm okay until I actually believe it?” He asked, hating how his voice sounded. Weak. Sad.

Castiel got up and sat beside of Dean. He leaned on him a little bit. “I can defy him, but I don't want you harmed, either,” he said thickly. “He's right. You need a good doctor. And we can't rely on Crowley's contraception.”

Dean sniffled, and despised himself for doing that in front of Cas. He didn't want to make Cas feel any worse. “I really am mostly okay,” he vowed. “I can wait. I said I could before, and I meant it. I'm only depressed. It'll pass.”

“If you say so, Dean. I thought... I thought I'd be able to give you a happy Christmas...” Cas put an arm around Dean's back.

“It'll be a good one anyway,” Dean said. “We'll be married. We'll have family all around us.”

Cas sighed. “We won't have Samandriel. He's gone back to the cathedral. There's a lot to do for people, and he wants everyone possible to be happy at this time. Fed and sheltered. He took a number of my books with him.”

Dean remembered a conversation with his father. “Cas, Dad's carrying around something called a New Testament. He said you might have one I can read.”

Cas inhaled through his nose. “Yes,” he said, his voice odd. “There's a complete Bible in Crowley's room, in the bookshelves there. Would you like to get it?”

Dean looked at Cas until Cas finally looked back. “Is this something I shouldn't have?” He asked. “You've gone all weird.”

“No, you're absolutely allowed to read it,” Cas insisted. “But, I want you to talk to me if you read something that bothers you, or if you have questions. Some of them I might not be able to answer, of course.” He got up and took Dean's hand, helping him to get up, too.

They went to Crowley's room together, and Castiel knocked.

“It's open,” Crowley called out.

Crowley looked a mess. His hair was jutting up, he had pins stuck in his shirt, and needles, and some of the needles had thread in them. Long threads therefore dangled off his body. Smudges of white chalk and black dye adorned his face and clothing. Dean spotted greenish powder on his shoulder. The tailor reeked of over-boiled tea, high nerves, and some kind of smoke.

“Shut the door behind yourselves,” Crowley said. “Don't walk through that circle on the floor, don't touch anything, and don't comment.”

“We need a book that's in here,” Dean protested.

“Which one?” Crowley asked, eyes going narrow.

“The Bible,” Castiel said. “It's red, with gold lettering on the spine.”

Crowley looked over at the bookcase. The Bible worked it's way free of other books _by itself_ , and smacked into Crowley's hand. Crowley handed it over to Cas. “If that's all, please go before you bust my rhythm.”

“Charming, as always,” Castiel commented, turning to go and drawing Dean with him. “I'll need to talk to you tomorrow.”

“I'll be available,” Crowley promised.

In the hall, Dean looked at Cas. “Did I just see what I thought I saw?”

“He's a witch, Dean,” Cas said gently. “There's a reason people fear them. Just be complimented that he displayed his talent in front of us. It means we're trusted.”

“Well, what was he doing?” Dean asked once they were back in Castiel's room.

“I'm no expert on witches, but it looked like advanced protection magic. I noticed he's making dolls that resemble us. If you see him tomorrow you can expect him to be cranky, hungry, and tired.” Castiel gave him a look that very clearly displayed 'I warned you'.

“Your dad knows what he is, too,” Dean said.

“My father has Crowley's measure. Your friend is safe,” Cas assured him.

\---------

Dean slept poorly. He kept Cas awake, too, and finally got up. “Cas, I'm going to go spend time in the kitchen,” he said. “It makes me feel better, and I need to think. Try to get some rest.”

“It's three in the morning, Dean,” Cas protested.

“I know, but I'm not sleeping, and a good kitchen calms me down,” Dean said. “I can work through stuff better if I'm doing something I like.”

“All right, but don't leave the house,” Cas said.

Dean put on a dressing gown, and went down. He heard someone was in the kitchen already and hoped it was a fluke. He needed alone time.

It was Ellen. She looked awful. Bags under her eyes, hair all over the place. Dean barely had time to assimilate that before he heard the cause of her distress. Sky, crying in a bassinet near the low fire from the corner fireplace.

“Dean,” she greeted. “Sky has colic.”

Since Dean became an adult omega, he'd contended with his nipples hurting whenever he heard a crying baby. He knew the difference between hunger and fussing. Fussing didn't cause the pain. “She's hungry,” Dean said.

“I know, but she doesn't like any of the milk I've tried,” Ellen said, looking ready to cry. “It's not the same as what her mother gave her, and she doesn't want it. She wants her mother, and I'm not her. It's just terrible, Dean.”

“What's going on in here?” Naomi whispered, entering while belting her dressing gown. She'd heard the noise.

“Oh, Madam Naomi,” Ellen said, bursting into tears. “Sky was so hungry her first few days with me that she took anything I gave her, but she's refusing all the milk now, and she wants her mother, and I don't know what to do!”

Naomi smoothed Ellen's messy hair back gently, then took her by her cheeks and stared into her eyes. “Ellen, that pain you're having in your nipples right now means you can feed the girl,” she whispered. “I know all about this. Just pick up Sky and hold her to yourself as you did with Jo. You are her mother now. She doesn't understand why you aren't feeding her.”

Ellen, her eyes wide open in shock, gave a little gasp. She practically flew to the bassinet, and lifted Sky.

Dean draped his dressing gown over them so they could have privacy, and made Ellen sit down. “What a relief,” he said.

Naomi kissed Dean's cheek. “I expect you feel a touch uncomfortable too, right now.”

“Yeah, it hurts,” Dean admitted.

“Well, you'd better go up and let my son take care of that,” Naomi said. “It's bad for you otherwise.”

Dean's face caught fire. “I should...?”

“Yes, Dean,” Naomi said, turning him around and making him walk. “He might be a little surprised, but he'll gladly help you. Go.”

Dean was shaking with fear and pure _squick_ as he walked up the stairs. This wasn't right. Milk was for children. Milk wasn't for your alpha betrothed. How could his body be so cruel to him? Too, the _mockery_ of it, especially right now when he was trying to work through so much related to children. Damn, did it hurt, twice over. Three times over. To infinity. He felt like abandoning all his lessons on being a grown up, and pitching the biggest omega hissy fit, _ever_.

He entered the bedroom. Cas, sleeping soundly now, had a hand on Dean's necklace.

 _Look at him_ , Dean thought scornfully. _Able to sleep like the baby I'm being denied while knowing I went to the kitchen to sulk over my omega crap_.

 _That's not fair_ , his conscience said. _You told him you wanted to be alone. He would have given up his sleep if you asked him to go with you_.

Dean hated that his own sense of fairness prevented him indulging in ire. Maybe he really was a righteous man.

Dean sat on the bed and touched Cas' shoulder. “Cas, I've got a problem,” he said.

Cas' eyes snapped open that second. He flexed and sat up, using those enviable stomach muscles. “Are you all right?” He asked.

Dean thought back to the long-ago, overheard conversation between Meg and Cas.

“ _Sir?” Meg said. “I have some bad news.”_

“ _Is Dean all right?” Castiel asked quickly_.

And,

“ _I suppose this is Dean's way of telling me that he accepts my proposal?”_

“ _Yes, sir, I believe so,” Meg agreed. “He's very willing to help you keep the manor.”_

“ _Oh, thank God,” Castiel said. “I'd hoped he would. He's very nice, and he's thoughtful, and I wanted a chance to be a good influence for him. I'm attached to his presence already. Did you know he made me a wonderful supper last night? I'd never had granola before. With cherries and yogurt.”_

Always, always so ready to do whatever Dean wanted or needed. Like a star in the sky that never moved, guiding Dean to home and safety.

It was okay. Cas would help, and Dean didn't have to worry, or be ashamed.

“Ellen was downstairs, having trouble trying to feed Sky,” Dean said. “Your mom told her what to do, and everything's okay now, except I heard Sky crying. That does something to omegas. Did you know?”

Cas shook his head. “I've noticed that babies are often sequestered with their mothers if they spend a lot of time crying,” he admitted. “I thought it was a type of bonding, or protecting the baby.”

“Well, it _is_ for those reasons, too,” Dean said. “The thing is, a crying baby causes an omega's body to produce milk. I'm in so much pain right now.”

Cas stared him in the eyes. Three seconds passed before Dean saw the understanding dawn. And, Dean expected to see aversion, or even the sorrow Cas always held if he thought Dean was hurting. He _didn't_ expect to see a surge of raw, alpha lust flare up hot in those pretty blue eyes.

The room flooded with Castiel's temptation.

Dean felt a shaking breath escape. Paralyzed, he watched Cas' gaze travel downward to his chest, slow and dragging. His skin practically burned under that attention. He felt a swelling behind his nipples now, and they hardened to an extent he'd never experienced before.

“Dean,” Cas rumbled, low and sonorous.

“You don't have to, Cas,” Dean whispered. “But, it would be the easiest way.”

Cas met his eyes again. “You offer me a gift like that and expect me to feel any way other than privileged?” Cas asked. “The precious, life-giving milk from your own body? Should you offer me all of Creation, it wouldn't be more valuable. Tell me 'yes', Dean. _Please_ , tell me to put my lips upon you and _drink_ you.”

Dean's omega gland erupted slick at hearing those words. “I... I just thought... You know, it's for kids, and...” He swallowed, feeling breathless. Cas' _scent_. He'd never smelled him this strongly. He thought fainting a real possibility. His spine had turned into a useless string. “I didn't want you to feel disgusted...”

“Milk is love, and love is never disgusting,” Cas growled. “You should never have told me how to make this happen, because I'll be pinching infants left and right.” He took Dean by the waist with those long, beautiful hands, holding him in place. “Please, Dean,” he repeated. “ _Give me permission to drink you_.”

“You have it,” Dean gasped. “You have it, Cas. Help me.”

Dean found himself getting expertly manhandled, rendered naked, carried from the bed and sat directly upon Castiel's messy desk. Castiel swept an arm out, and papers, quills, brushes and ink bottles went everywhere.

The new position put Dean high up, and he saw Cas had been thinking exactly of this. He looked down and met Castiel's eyes. They looked like he had a black sun behind them.

Castiel, holding Dean by the waist, bent his head to Dean's right nipple.

Dean inhaled raggedly as those lips gently closed over him. His head dropped back. A line of hot lust shot from his nipple to his dick, to his ass. He couldn't believe this. Oh, _fuck_ , this-.

Castiel sucked on him, and Dean cried out as the bright, hot pleasure swelled. His dick went rock hard in a second. He poured with slick. He heard it splashing to the floor, and the sound of Cas trying to swallow and growl at the same time. It was pure possession, that sound.

“Cas, oh Cas, this feels-!”

The growling dropped to the lowest pitch, and vibrated Dean's nipple. He felt the milk leaving him in long, long pulls. Why did this feel so good? It ached, but the ache made it better, somehow. Castiel's beautiful, soft mouth cupping him, tongue working to coax him into giving more and more.

That eagerness _got to_ Dean. To Cas, this was the best gift, ever. Dean blearily got his head from it's fallen back position, and looked down at that dark, messy hair. Cas' face was lovely as he drank Dean, eyes shut with pleasure and concentration. Just seeing him that way made Dean release another flood of slick.

Cas took one of his hands away, grabbed Dean's left leg, and threw it over his shoulder. Never ceasing the suck and swirl on Dean's nipple, he trailed his touch to Dean's exposed hole.

Dean heard someone pleading, someone shamefully begging, and realized it was coming from his own mouth.

Cas slid his finger inside of Dean, slow and gentle. Dean grabbed it, beyond impatient, tried to milk it like a cock. Cas made a sound that sent all the fine hairs on Dean's body straight up. He pushed and withdrew, pushed and withdrew, over and over, making Dean sob.

The wetness kept pouring out of Dean, and Cas kept drinking. Dean thought he might turn into a husk, and he didn't care. Tears, milk, slick... All Cas would have to do was touch his dick one time and there'd be come to contend with, too. His body had turned into a thing to _produce_ , to leak for Cas.

Dean had never felt so deliciously _owned_. He could smell himself emitting that surrender, even the joy of it. If it had been powerful at the restaurant, here and now it was all that existed. So strong he couldn't even smell Cas anymore.

Cas released Dean's nipple and went immediately to the next, still shallow-pumping Dean's ass. He added a finger.

Oh! Dean didn't know why, but this nipple was more sensitive, and the pleasure greater. Stunningly so.

 _Oh, shit_ , Dean thought, his head swimming. _I'm_ _ **feeding**_ _Cas_.

He thought he might come, then and there.

Those fingers felt so good. Cas was inside him, stroking Dean's clenching walls in a worship of how he'd been made. Dean couldn’t mistake it for anything else, not when Cas drank from him with such sweet enthusiasm. He whimpered a little at the tiny use of teeth on his throbbing nipple.

He wanted to come. He writhed with the need.

Cas took hold of Dean's dick, squeezed it, and curled his fingers inside Dean's ass.

Dean came so hard his eyes failed him. “Ah! Ah! Ahhhh, Cas! Castiel!” God, he felt it everywhere, in his nipples, his dick, his omega gland, his prostate, everywhere. His balls shook. He grabbed Cas' shoulders and held on, thinking if he had to die, this was the best way.

Cas gently pulled his fingers out, and lowered Dean's leg. He kissed the center of Dean's chest, wrapped his arms around him, and pressed his ear over Dean's heart.

Dean needed his support just to sit there. He couldn't trust his mouth to work for talking, either. He'd never felt anything like the combination of pleasures Cas had used on him. Even now, that sense of worship he felt for Cas, lingered strong.

Castiel picked him up, carried him back to the bed. Dean stared at the ceiling off and on, not aware of much but the complete draining of all things. He felt himself getting cleaned with a damp cloth, and dressed in silk pants. Covers went over him, and Castiel pressed against his back.

Dean fell asleep to the gentle, sweeping touches of Castiel's hand on his belly.

 

\---------


	23. Chapter 23

“Sphinx, that's disgusting,” Castiel rumbled in Dean's ear.

Dean opened his eyes. He had to twist his body a bit, but when he did he saw his lynx was licking Castiel in the ear. Cas' face was all screwed up in distaste. He pushed Sphinx away, and clutched Dean back to himself.

Dean's stomach growled. Made sense. He'd burned a billion calories a few hours ago.

“It seems I need to feed you,” Cas said.

Dean nodded as well as able. He still didn't feel like his mouth would work right. This time, he thought he was preferring silence because of the awe he felt for Cas, not fear or distress. How could he feel anything _but_ awe towards a man so powerfully different? Cas had wanted Dean's milk so much it had just about driven him crazy.

_Cas met his eyes again. “You offer me a gift like that and expect me to feel any way other than privileged?” Cas asked. “The precious, life-giving milk from your own body? Should you offer me all of Creation, it wouldn't be more valuable. Tell me 'yes', Dean. **Please** , tell me to put my lips upon you and **drink** you.”_

Dean had no idea how to proceed. For the first time in his life, his training utterly failed him. No one had warned him this could happen. No one had ever said an alpha could enjoy him so much that he'd like to drink from him. Make it about sexual worship, even. Cas, himself, hadn't had an orgasm.

“Dean...?” Cas ran a hand down Dean's arm hesitantly. “Have I upset you?”

“ _ **Please** , Dean,” he repeated. “ **Give me permission to drink you**.”_

When Cas told him he felt things deeply, he hadn't exaggerated.

Cas was getting concerned for his sake, he could smell it.

Dean rolled over so they could look each other in the eyes. He put two fingers together like a closed fan, and tapped his lips to ask for forgiveness. Then, silently told him he wasn't angry, upset, or anything negative. Just deep in thought.

“Thank God,” Cas said. “You have the strangest look in your eyes, Dean.”

Dean got up and retrieved his fans from the bureau. He cast one look at the mess near the desk, and winced. Papers and ink everywhere, dried slick... He could see his butt print on the wood, and that was so funny he couldn't even react to it. Ridiculous. A butt print on polished mahogany.

“I will be the one to clean that up, not you,” Castiel informed. “It can wait until you've eaten.” He handed Dean a particular, green kimono. “The other people in this house will just have to endure the smell of us awhile longer.”

Dean put on the kimono and settled one fan, leaving the other out. Castiel put on one of Dean's shirts, and opened the door.

“Correction,” Crowley said, standing in their way with a cloth and a bottle. “ _I_ will be the one to clean it up, so I don't have to suffer anymore.”

Castiel lifted an eyebrow. “Please yourself,” he replied.

“I have been, that's the problem,” Crowley said, walking between them. “Repeatedly, and with vigor.”

“You're _distasteful_ ,” Castiel said, and took Dean by the arm to lead him down. He reached into the room and grabbed Dean's stool, though. “Come along, Dean. We'll eat privately this morning, since most everyone else will have already eaten, and I want to use the good dining room.”

Cas spoke a few words to Meg on their way into the east wing, and she went in the direction of the kitchen. Dean figured he'd placed an order for what he wanted them to eat.

The dining room had two fireplaces. Dean was put on his tailored stool and told to wait. He watched Cas building up fires, admiring how easy he made it look. Being strong, he didn't have to struggle with larger pieces of wood. It only took him a few minutes to have the room heating up to a comfortable temperature.

“I'd love to take you out to eat again,” Cas said, coming back. He sat and looked down at Dean, his eyes holding a soft, thoughtful expression. “I'd like to surround you with the stimulation of other people, give you freedom like you've never had before. But, evil is everywhere. The best I can do is surround you with sturdy walls, and protect you as I am able.”

Dean couldn't help staring at Castiel. Over the weeks of being here at Tor-Valen, he'd learned Cas a little bit, but he knew he'd only scratched the surface of his alpha. Last night proved that well enough. Castiel was coming into his own as an alpha that had an omega, learning the meaning of owning someone. And, he struggled with it at times.

“How you look at me,” Cas murmured. “You say you're all right, but you're very different this morning. Not frightened, not angry...”

Meg entered the room with a maid. They both carried trays. Meg put down a place setting for Castiel. “Sir,” she said. “That divan you commissioned for Dean is here. Do you want me to bring it?”

“Yes,” Castiel answered, sounding pleased. “I want Dean to always be comfortable when he eats.”

“I thought you'd say that.” Meg gestured toward the door, and two men Dean hadn't seen before, came in. They each had one end of a divan that resembled a fainting couch.

Dean got up out of the way. Cas took his stool, moving it to the other side of himself. The divan was put where Dean had been.

“Try it out, Dean,” Cas invited.

Dean stretched out on the thing. He was lower down than Cas, satisfying the alpha/omega feeding demands. But, he was much higher than before. Cas could reach out and feed him easily, give him liquids personally with no trouble. He wasn't two feet away from Cas anymore.

Dean felt the velvet stuffing, and smiled a little bit. This was very comfortable. He used his fans to say so.

“I'm glad he likes it,” one of the men said. “You're about to eat, so we won't take up your time, Master Novak. But, you should know our great grandfather was the one who showed us how to make this dining couch. He remembers when they were in style, and being used all the time.”

“That is gratifying,” Castiel said. “Tell your great grandfather I appreciated his expertise.” Cas gave the man a money bag. “If he designs two more for me, I'll pay all of you a thousand gold each. I need a sturdy oak one for when we eat in the kitchen itself, and a cherry one for my bedroom.”

“Colors?” The other man asked.

“The oak one needs a dark velvet of your great grandfather's choice, but the cherry one needs a blondish-brown stain and a particular fabric. I'll have the fabric sent the day after tomorrow. There's not a rush to get it done. Dean is patient with me.”

The men smiled, and left.

Castiel tilted his head at Dean. “You have to feel better, being off the floor fully. I hope my presumption hasn't offended you in any way.”

Dean shook his head. The couch felt good. It was warm, and far from the cold drafts that tend to coast along floors in winter.

Cas turned his attention to Meg and the maid. “My thanks to you both. Please inform friends and family Dean and I aren't be disturbed during this meal.”

Bowing, Meg and the maid left.

Cas took the cover from the tray. The smell of beef and something else wafted over to Dean. Cas put things on his plate and began cutting them. Every so often, he picked up what looked to be a transparent noodle. Dean burned with curiosity by the time the first bite was presented to him.

It was a tender slice of beef with a fat piece of dark mushroom atop it, wrapped in a noodle to keep it all together.

Dean stared for a moment and then, smiling, he accepted. Oh, it was good. The noodle didn't taste of anything, was just a binder, but the beef and mushroom exploded with dark richness. He groaned as he chewed.

“Ellen pointed out to me that you love beef,” Castiel said. “I had a yearling slaughtered this morning just for you. You will have beef any way you want it all during Christmas and our bonding.”

If Dean hadn't known furniture couldn't be whipped up overnight, he'd think his extra-special treatment a result of letting Cas drink from him. Because, having a precious, yearling calf killed to provide expensive, tender meat merely because Dean liked it... Well, Crowley had told him that special intimacy would cause Castiel to heap favors upon him. No lie, there.

Cas gave Dean a drink of something very malty and sweet. He hesitated in swallowing it, wondering what it was.

“Honey mead,” Cas explained. “Lightly alcoholic, and actually good for you. I want you relaxed today. All the increase in activity for the holiday, and the stress of so many people, will be hard on us.”

Dean nodded, and accepted another drink.

Cas had a bite for himself and watched Dean as he chewed. “I must ask again, did I do something you didn't like? You smell very much like...” He sniffed. “Like wonderment,” he finished.

 _Good way to put it_ , Dean thought. He told Cas the same thing he had before, adding that he'd been in a constant state of wonder since getting here, and only being overwhelmed by other things had made him smell differently. He reminded Cas of the conversation they'd had before the fish fry, when he'd confessed to feeling like an alien.

Cas fed him a delicious piece of tender squash cooked with curry, then another piece of beef. “I remember, and I understand, but your eyes won't leave me,” he said quietly.

'I can't believe you exist', Dean told him. 'I thought I'd be alone, cold, and hungry my entire life.'

Castiel's face crumpled into sadness. The scent of him became sharp with sympathy. He grabbed a napkin and clenched down on it, hard. “The thought of you cold, lonely, with your belly aching, makes me sick,” he said. “All humans are special, even the villains, but you shine above all of them. You deserve so much more than what you got.”

Dean leaned up from his divan, and kissed Castiel's stubble-rough cheek. He then exposed his throat.

Castiel kissed his bite scar.

Dean eased back down, and shut his eyes.

It took them a few minutes to collect themselves.

When Dean was ready to continue eating, Castiel already had more of the cunningly tied little beef bites lined up.

Meg returned just as they finished, carrying another tray. She put it down and picked up the old one, even giving Castiel a new place setting and a deep bowl. Dean smelled clam chowder.

“I don't want to deny you any assurance you take from how we eat, but let me give you the chowder with a spoon,” Castiel murmured. “For some reason I need to see your lips opening up for it. Probably a new phase of fascination with your beauty.”

Dean shivered and blushed. He nodded his assent.

Castiel offered the spoon, and Dean watched Cas' eyes as he accepted. Cas was indeed staring at his mouth. Dean could allow that mouths were interesting, and Cas' had drawn him in many, many times. Well shaped, sensuous, soft and expressive...

Cas gave him a thin wheat cracker liberally spread with cream cheese. It complimented the chowder a lot. Dean made an 'Mmmmm' sound.

Castiel tried a spoonful of chowder with a cracker, and smiled. “I'm a genius even if I don't cook or eat a lot,” he observed.

Dean smiled at his playful arrogance.

They drank the rest of the mead, and ate everything slowly. Meg came a final time to clear and reset. She whispered something to Castiel, her eyes sparkling as she looked at Dean, and left.

“Caruthers lost his case against us,” Castiel said. He looked at the final course, and smiled. “Oh, Dean, you're going to like this. Kevin insisted it be brought to you, apparently.”

Dean opened his mouth for a spoonful of something bright pink with brown dots. It was cold, sweet, tasted of cherry and chocolate, and melted in his mouth. He groaned long and low.

“Ice cream,” Cas explained. “Kevin even wrote to you how taken he was with it.”

Dean happily ate every bite of the dessert.

 

* * *

 

Dean stood very still for his final fitting of the wedding kimono. Again, John was in attendance, carefully watching. Dean wasn't talking, and Crowley said little. The tailor looked very tired.

“You sick?” John asked him.

“I was up all night with designing a protection spell for this house and everyone on the immediate grounds,” Crowley explained without sass. “Even _my_ hands get tired sewing ninety different fetish dolls.” He pointed to the corner, and Dean hadn't noticed it before, but there was an exact mock-up of the manor and the cabins, the lake and grounds there, made of plaster or something.

John whistled. He got up and went to the miniature mock-up. He turned it once, then carefully took the roof off and peered down. “I expect touching something will get me struck dead?” He asked.

“Of course not, you pretty moron,” Crowley said testily. “Find your doll, and give it a lick for me. I didn't have any clothing of yours to make it out of.”

John frowned a little. He held up his doll. “This actually looks like me. It's creepy.”

“Lick the damned thing,” Crowley insisted. “Ideally, I'd have you jerk off with it, but that's not going to happen.”

Dean grinned as his dad turned bright red in the face. He almost giggled when John licked his doll and put it back.

“Thank fuck,” Crowley said. “Imagine that; you can take orders.”

“You've got me by the short and curlies,” John protested. “Anything you want, I have to give.”

“Don't, just _don't_ remind me I could have you in bed tonight,” Crowley said, pinning a place on Dean's shoulder. “It's only because I don't want to hurt Dean that I don't bespell you.” He pinned again. “ _Hot damn_ , you're enough to make an omega fall down on all fours with a glance. I've never seen your like.”

Dean thought Crowley had very specific tastes with what got him excited. He liked danger, and John reeked of carefully contained menace. He sneaked a peek at his dad, seeing his blush had gone volcanic.

“You're just about to go into heat,” John protested. “Any alpha would look good to you.”

“That's where you're wrong,” Crowley told him, making a few stitches on the kimono. “I have a 'type', and you're it. Up and down, you're it. Hard and wiry and sleek. Pretty, dark eyes and thick facial hair. Big, rough hands and broad shoulders... _Fuck_.” He shut his eyes a second or two before resuming his work. “Dean, I apologize,” he said. “It must be hard, my perving on your sire.”

“Not particularly,” Dean confessed. “You're actually well matched. Neither one of you cares a bit for manners, if they're out of place. Or, maybe you just both know that manners are useless once you get to a certain level of poverty.”

“Dean, you're bonding to people that use fifteen words instead of five,” John pointed out. “You can even do it yourself, I notice. And, good on you for that. You're smarter than I ever was.”

“I'm already bonded to them,” Dean said. “You wouldn't believe how kind and steadfast the Novak family is. The ceremony is just to make it all legal. My vocabulary is due to Sonny being extra-smart, and Mom teaching me as much as she could while you were hunting food for us. I'm not any smarter than you, Dad. You just hide how smart you are because you're a predator, and it gives you an advantage.”

In the silence that followed, Dean knew he'd struck home with his dad. Crowley, too.

“I was never hungry while I lived with you and Mom,” Dean went on, feeling a need to vent. “She kept a garden, and you never failed to bring home something for us to eat. It was the height of my life, up until now. I'm sorry it all went tits up, I truly am, but you've got to figure your good points in with your bad ones, or your math is off.

“People do stupid stuff. It's the way people are. What matters is you changed your mind and mean to do better. I'm not mad at you, not even a little bit. I just don't know you, is the thing.”

Dean was watching, so he saw when his dad bowed his head to him like an omega would. It resonated in him, but he kept his expression utterly neutral.

Crowley hugged him, careful to not stick him with pins, and resumed working. “I think you're the best person I've ever known,” he confessed. “If Castiel wasn't the second-best, I'd have his guts for garters for even touching you.”

“Well, I appreciate your feelings on the matter,” Dean said. “Really. You're a good friend.”

Crowley gave him a smile and stepped back. He ran a critical eye over his work, and nodded. “If you can get that off without moving the pins, you're done,” he said. “I can have this ready in minutes now. With the obi you made, this is going to look spectacular. I stitched that closed this morning, so if you want to have a look it's in the cedar box on the mantlepiece.”

Dean very carefully removed the kimono. Only in his pants, he went to the box and drew out his work.

“Dean, you made this?” John asked, standing for a look. “It's beautiful.”

“It has meaning,” Dean told him. “The magpie is for happiness, and connecting people. It's for family unity and festivities. The cherry blossoms that are beginning to fade to yellow mean power, beauty, and sexuality with an element of fade,” Dean explained. “I'm not a young omega. I have to show that. I included willow branches to show bending without breaking.

“The fabric is blue tinted silver, because silver is for wishing abundance on the family, and promising to be dependable. The blue is for healing, faith, and exploration.” He handed the obi to his dad so he could feel it. “Of course, it had to be silk. Silk is smooth, enduring, and lustrous, and for rich people. That's how I'm supposed to be, ideally.”

John touched Dean's stitches with reverence. “Not that I'd use those romantic words, but you are, Dean,” he said quietly. “I'd say polished, faithful, bright, and beyond value.”

Dean enjoyed the praise. He couldn't deny it felt good to get recognition from his own father. He ran a hand through John's hair just as he would to a fellow omega male who needed support, and his father didn't protest the gesture at all. In fact, he leaned into it as if Dean was the answer to all his problems.

John broke his heart more than a little.

 

* * *

 

Dean collected Ruto and Sphinx to take a trip to see the Harvelle family. Ellen had taken the afternoon off to be with her new baby, and Dean wanted to see them all in a domestic setting. It would do him good, he knew.  And, since the cabins were so close, perhaps a half acre away, he felt safe enough to travel with only his pets.

He knocked, and Jo answered. She smiled fully up at him, stepping back so he could enter. Ruto bounded in and started acquainting himself with their puppy, but Sphinx jumped onto Dean's shoulder to ride. She was heavy, so he moved carefully to avoid getting the panic reaction of claws.

The scene in the common room of the cabin instantly elevated Dean's mood. Aria was there, showing Bill how to make baskets. Ellen had Sky held close, a blanket over them both so the baby could nurse in dark warmth. The house smelled of vanilla and black tea mingling with hearty venison stew, and Dean spied a cauldron of the peasant staple cooking over a low fire. A small work table in a corner held the detritus of metal sharpening, spear ends for fishing, and arrowheads.

“You guys are awesome to someone bogged down in rich people crap,” Dean blurted.

They all laughed a little. Jo invited Dean to sit beside of Ellen, and went to get him a mug of bracing black tea. She gave it to him with a friendly wink. “Want to take turns with us? You can help me sharpen arrowheads, then help Dad and Aria make baskets for the townsfolk.”

“I'd love to,” he said.

Jo showed him what angle to use in sharpening the metal, and how much force to use. Dean spent a happy two hours figuring out how to do the job perfectly. This felt good, using his hands to make metal forms into something useful. He used Jo's finer file to hone her first and second stage work to perfection, still enduring Sphinx's weight on his shoulder. The cat adjusted to his movements like a dancer, purring when he stayed still longer than a few minutes.

It was so nice, listening to the talking and being able to join in when he wanted to, not being called upon to say the right thing at the right time, or to acknowledge class, caste, or birth designation. Dean wouldn't trade his new family for anything, but this... The Harvelle family accepted him for something other than being perfect for Castiel.

“Dean, can you take Sky for less than an hour so I can bathe and relieve myself?” Ellen asked, presenting the baby. “I'm filthy, and I've had to pee for twenty minutes.”

Dean took Sky, smiling, and held her close. She was so beautiful. He hoped his own children were this lovely. He stroked her cheek and talked to her, fascinated with the way she focused upon him, watching his lips move. Her smiles came often. Dean discovered the pain of waiting for his own children would be subsided in taking care of her.

“Like your new family?” he asked, kissing her head. “Cas gave you the best. He passed up his own mom and dad, the people he worships, to give you an honest, strong, amazing family.”

Sky gave a bubbling laugh and touched his chin and mouth, her eyes simply shining with happiness.

“Look at you,” he whispered. “I knew you were special. Ellen, Bill, and Jo will raise you just right. They couldn't do otherwise. You live up to that red hair, Sky. Be powerful and self-reliant, good of heart and determined.”

Dean put Sky to his shoulder and petted her. She quieted, soon falling asleep. He rocked her a good while, which dislodged Sphinx. When Ellen came back out dressed for bed, he handed her over. “I love the smell of a clean baby,” he confessed.

“So do I,” Ellen told him, carefully cradling Sky in her arms. “Thank you for putting her to sleep. I'm going to sleep while she does. She's going to wake up in a few hours, hungry and demanding.” She smiled at Dean before retreating to a rear room of the warm cabin.

“It's nice to have a sister,” Jo said. She started gathering up arrows. “Dean, I made you a longbow. Master Novak thought the weapon would suit you, and I agree.” She gestured toward a beautifully made bow that stood in the corner, well away from the fireplace. “I made it out of ash. You take it and that quiver full of arrows on the mantle. You have trouble learning the bow, you come to me. Somehow, I don't think you're going to have any difficulty.” With that, Jo left the cabin.

“My girl is my pride and joy,” Bill said as he threaded a fat reed into a basket form. “My simple, alpha heart swells just seeing her.” He patted the bearskin rug to ask Dean to sit beside him. “You wanted to learn this, so have a seat.”

Dean spent another two hours learning three basket designs, with Sphinx at his side. It was good work, slow and satisfying. Between the three of them they made ten baskets.

Dean, tired even though the sun hadn't yet fallen from the sky, got his pets and bade the Harvelle family goodbye. As he walked through the thick snow he thought about how lucky he was to know all these high quality people, to even share their lives in any way.

Sphinx took off, a streak of black and tan. Dean waited. She returned with a dead hare dangling from her jaws. Ruto, all interest, sniffed her and the rabbit. Dean sat at the only bench at the back of the house and watched his cat and dog divide and eat.

They weren't anything alike, those two. Cat and dog. The dog had been bred to be what it was, and the cat had come from a long line of wild felines. Yet, they liked each other. Dean had seen them curling up together to sleep. And, though his attention had slipped lately, what with all the stuff happening at Tor-Valen, it was clear Sphinx and Ruto often ate together. Dean would bet that the cat fed the dog at least once a day. They were too natural together for it to be otherwise.

All animals, humans included, obeyed the alpha-beta-omega dynamic. Sphinx was the alpha pet, Ruto the beta. Ruto deferred to Sphinx. Courtesy. Food. Companionship. Ruto didn't challenge Sphinx.

Dean thought about that awhile, watching how they ate. Sphinx left the fattiest, blood-rich parts of the hare to Ruto, focusing only on the head and top flesh, mostly. The dog got all of the best organ bits, but with an ever-cautious, respectful eye to the cat. He was ready to give up what was offered at any time. Yes, he enjoyed what Sphinx allowed him, but never for a second did he take it for granted.

After, when both were satisfied, Ruto reclined in satisfaction and Sphinx cleaning her fur, their air of pleasure was evident. A pecking order and basic hunger had been met cleanly, to perfection. The lynx rubbed her face on the dog. The dog leaned back to offer shelter.

Dean sat there a very long time, watching Sphinx sleep against Ruto's belly.

 

* * *

 

Castiel attended the birth of a Friesian colt that evening, so Dean fed himself and went to the bedroom. He dwelt there a time, listening to silence, before the need for stimulation got to be too much. He dressed in double layers and went back down, stopping in the kitchen.

John sat there, drinking hot black tea. Dean touched his shoulder on the way by and went to the cold storage. He got leftover beef broth, carried it back out, and took a few minutes to make his mother's thick flat bread. As it baked, he cut beef into strips as he'd done to make Mary's winter meat rolls. He cut onions, frying fried them lightly while cutting chunks of hearty tomato.

Dean assembled many meat rolls with creamy goat cheese as a liner. He gave his father three of them on a plate, then put the rest under a dome on a tray, and put on his cloak. The beef broth he ladled into a large stoneware canteen. On his way out, he stopped to press a brief, sanctioning kiss to John's head.

Snow crunched hard and cold under his feet. Even with his resistance, the temperature pressed him. Once he got to the double-furnace stables, he paused a few minutes to warm his feet by holding them close to the flames. He heard Bobby, Castiel, and one other man of unknown name, talking close by.

Dean approached. The three men, two alphas, one beta, watched him. He put the tray and canteen down on a hay bale, and had a look at what they attended. A dark, skinny, horse made nearly only of legs was drinking from its mother.

Dean watched awhile, aware of his offerings being explored and eagerly taken. The colt looked big, even as a baby.

“He's yours, Dean,” Castiel said softly, coming to stand beside him. “Standing Tall Brave Soul Large Heart, of Tor-Valen. You can name him whatever you please.”

Dean walked closer to the stall, his heart thumping hard. He opened the gate to the pen and went in, closing it behind himself. The mother horse made a sound like asking. Dean touched her nose and leaned, feeling her large face rubbing his body at various points.

Ignorant as Dean was about horses, he still knew benevolence. This baby's mother trusted him, probably because of the way he smelled. He wasn't a threat. He put himself flat down in the new, sweet smelling, thick straw, and simply dwelt. After a time, both mother and child reclined with him. Dean curled up against the large baby's back, stroking him.

He felt so sleepy now.

“Master Novak,” he heard Bobby say. “You leave him here tonight. I'll keep watch. They're bonding.”

“Yes, Bobby,” Cas said lowly. “Get a clean blanket. I'm going to stay with them.”

Soon, Dean had his alpha behind him, and a gentle, sweet horse baby in front. The clean smell of the baby wasn't much different from Sky. He nuzzled against him, Cas adhering to him from behind and adjusting. Warm and safe, Dean fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

When Dean awoke, he only did because the baby horse explored him with his nose and a gentle pawing of hoof. He sat up to let the child examine him, smiling when the baby pressed his face to Dean's neck and sniffed.

“Venture,” Dean named him quietly. “Your name is Venture.”

Venture leaned his face on Dean, and made a sound that Dean knew simply as acceptance.

“That's perfect,” Castiel praised. He sat behind Dean. “I want you to be with Venture often, Dean. This is your horse.”

Dean petted Venture, and smiled. A baby wasn't a threat. A baby needed to be cared for. “I'll spend a lot of time with him,” Dean easily promised. “Did you breed him specifically for me, Cas?”

“No, but I realized if you could be with a smaller horse, a child, and interact with it while it grew up, you wouldn't have fear no matter how big he proved.” Cas stroked Venture's neck, then Venture's mother. “Horses don't normally lie down like this, for your information. That they did for you tells me quite a bit.”

Dean smiled as Venture nuzzled him. “Do you think he'll be big? The rest of your horses are.”

“Actually, I can tell,” Cas said. “He's going to be quite large. Bigger than Brave Soul and his mother, Standing Tall. When we ride together, you're going to be higher up than I am.” He winked at Dean. “I must have you on display.”

Dean grinned, and shook his head. “You're something else.”

They left the stable together. Outside, Dean eyed all the bright snow.

“Damn it, Dean, you're barefoot again,” Cas said. Despite his words he wasn't angry, or Dean would smell it. Cas' scent was one part exasperation and one part humor. “It's winter, and it's cold,” he went on.

“It's not too far to the house,” Dean protested.

Cas picked him up. “Far enough,” he muttered.

“You don't fool me,” Dean told him. “You like carrying me, and I just gave you an excuse.”

“I can see Crowley's disrespectful nature is having an influence on you,” Cas said, looking straight ahead. But, his lips were smiling.

“You like a fair amount of sass, too,” Dean pointed out.

Castiel chuckled. “I must. The perversity of my nature? An alpha that enjoys back-talk. I think it's a matter of showing some spirit. You can't deny our resident tailor has a lot of spirit.”

“Oh, he is _so_ campaigning for my dad,” Dean told him. “You should have heard the things he was saying to John yesterday. Dad was so red in the face I thought he might have a stroke.”

Cas had to stop walking just to laugh. “Oh no,” he said. “Crowley's going into heat, and he's not suppressing it! It's coercion!”

“He out-and-out told John that fear of hurting me was the only reason he didn't just cast a spell on him to get him in bed,” Dean said, laughing, too. “John is Crowley's 'type'.”

Cas nodded, and began walking again. “Dangerous, in other words. What a surprise. Crowley is attracted to the very thing capable of slaying him. I suppose that's only natural.”

Dean sobered a little bit, finding Cas' words poignant. He felt an unreal amount of attraction to Cas, and Cas could snap his neck with no effort at all. He was strong, and accomplished at killing. Even now, being borne in Cas' arms, he knew that strip of leather would be up Cas' sleeve. Cas didn't need a weapon, anyway.

But, Cas would never deliberately hurt Dean. Dean knew it down to his bones. He trusted Cas.

“Oh, Dean,” Cas sighed. “You don't know what it means to me to have your faith.”

Dean supposed he had to be putting out pretty powerful scent right now. It was hard for him to tell, because his head was so close to Cas' throat. “It's easy to have faith in someone you can see,” he said. “I can't help but watch you. You're consistent in how you react to things.”

 _Except for the whole drinking from him thing_ , Dean added mentally. Talk about a surprise. Dean's mind wandered back to that every half hour or so, regardless of what went on. It just wasn't possible to ignore, being wanted so much that...

Dean pushed his thoughts away so he wouldn't get aroused. “Personal, serious question,” he said.

“All right.” Cas didn't bat an eyelid.

“Is our kid going to have competition for my milk?”

Cas stopped. Very slowly, he looked at Dean. “I shall make every effort not to be a pest,” he promised. “I wouldn't starve a child, especially my own, but you must be aware I'll prove fixated.”

Dean had rather imagined. He nodded. “While we're out here and no one can overhear us, do you mind telling me why it's so wonderful? I mean, you _said_ , but I'm not sure I understand.”

“This is why you've been staring at me,” Cas said. “I can smell that you aren't upset. You're... curious. That's what it's been.”

“Yeah, well, I was coached on what to expect from alpha men,” Dean explained. “That wasn't part of the curriculum. But, it can't be unheard of, because...” Dean paused to consider his next words.

“Well, I've always felt that pain when hearing a crying baby. I didn't know it meant I'd made milk. I knew I would for my child, after the birth. But, your mom knew what it meant, and she was the one who told me. Then, she told me to go upstairs and let you take care of it. That you'd be surprised, but willing to help me.”

Cas tilted his head as he listened, his eyes alert. “My mother is incredibly aware of what I am,” he mused.

“Well, my mother seemed to know what I'd be, but she didn't mention any of this to me, either, even with teaching me about babies and how to take care of them,” Dean pointed out. “She was a beta, so maybe she didn't know.”

“My mother had a precious omega, too,” Cas added. “She helped her with this issue, perhaps?”

“Terrible play on words there, Cas,” Dean said, smiling.

Cas chuckled and began walking again. “I'll think about this,” he promised.

 

* * *

 

Naomi requested Dean's company for the noon meal, and also in the private dining area. Dean suspected Cas had told her not to allow him to sit on the floor ever again, and they were only eating in there because of the custom made divan. He liked this room, though, and couldn't complain. He had his own cup of water at his request, and they were both a bit lazy with how they ate.

“I watched you two coming back from the stables,” she said. “It does my heart good to see Castiel laughing. Thank you for that, Dean.” She gave him a piece of bread with honey butter. “He was such a serious child. I didn't hear him laugh until he turned seven.”

“What finally made him laugh?” Dean wanted to know.

Naomi smiled in remembrance. “We were traveling from the Southerby Estate to the port. I was heavily pregnant with Samandriel, and in a terrible mood. Castiel stayed close to me always, trying to make me more comfortable, but carriage riding is never comfortable when a baby is pressing down on your bladder.”

Dean could well imagine.

“He could read at an adult level by then, and I tried to keep him entertained, but Castiel has always been outdoorsy. I made Zach stop the caravan at one of the little docks in between, probably halfway to our destination.” Naomi gave Dean a piece of bacon. “Castiel got out and immediately went to see what an old fisherman was doing on the dock. He loved people from the first day, and insisted upon watching them whenever possible.”

Dean smiled. That was Cas.

“I don't know if you've ever really been to an active dock,” Naomi continued, “but, where you find fishermen, you find cats. Cats generally love fish. Cats are kept on sailing vessels to keep down vermin, too.” She offered Dean a juicy piece of tomato dipped in a balsamic vinegar, and Dean happily enjoyed it. “The old fisherman had five, less than patient, feline attendants. The first fish pulled out of the water went to them, and they made greedy, short work of it.”

“And, Cas thought it was funny,” Dean surmised.

“He did.” Naomi smiled again. “Also, the old man made a joke about 'cat-fishing', and Castiel found it _uproarious_. He fell down on the dock he laughed so hard, which made the old fisherman laugh, which made him laugh more. It kept going on and on until _I_ started laughing. I felt so relieved to see my son did possess a sense of humor that I gave that old man two hundred gold pieces and my husband's best fishing pole.”

“Not your own best pole,” Dean said, grinning.

“Of course not my own pole.” Naomi smiled back.

Dean accepted more bread, and drank most of his water. “I wish I could see that through your eyes,” he admitted. “Cas must have been a beautiful child.”

“Dean, he was so beautiful that he got mistaken for a female ninety percent of the time,” Naomi said. “Some people didn't believe me. Argued with his own mother! Said I was trying to pass a girl off as an heir. Only showing them Castiel's impressive genitals solved it. I quit doing that when he got old enough to understand.”

Dean smirked. “I figured Zachariah would have been the one to show off his son's gifts.”

“Zach didn't spend as much time with Castiel as I did. He had work to do. At that time we were coming into our own, proving we could take over the family businesses. My father, God rest him, was a workaholic, and Zach had a lot to live up to.” Naomi offered Dean the last of the excellent bread. “I may not be able to give you my own memories, but...” She reached into her neckline, bringing out a large, flat piece of hinged gold on a chain. “This locket will show you what he looked like. I had an expert artist draw him in miniature. Samandriel, too, later.”

Dean took the locket, and looked for the clasp. Gently, he opened it. He ignored Samandriel, and focused on Castiel. Oh, she was right. Cas looked like a girl. A beautiful, dark haired girl with piercing eyes. “Look at that adorable nose,” he whispered.

“I know,” Naomi giggled. “Dean, when you're allowed to have children, and I _am_ sorry you've been told to wait, I _truly_ am, you're going to make some gorgeous children with Castiel. Both of you are incredibly handsome.”

“I can wait,” Dean said, giving the locket back. “I don't want to, but I can.”

“I know,” Naomi said kindly, touching his face. “You told me you'd always wanted children. A whole house full. God willing, you'll get your wish.”

“I feel thankful for your support, Naomi,” Dean said. “You and Zachariah have ever been kind to me. I won't forget.” He couldn't forget. Memories formed here, would stay.

“You are the sweetest man,” Naomi said. Her eyes were full of smiles. “I hope the night before last wasn't too difficult for you. You didn't understand what was wrong any more than that kind little Ellen.”

Dean lowered his head. “Cas got me through it. I have to admit I didn't expect him to be quite so... _appreciative_.”

“Well, you might have to be an alpha to understand that one fully,” Naomi informed. “Alphas are about taking, consuming, demanding. And, since Castiel is perfectly fixated upon you...”

“Oh.” Dean thought about that a few minutes while slowly finishing his water.

“What will you do with the rest of your day, dear?” Naomi asked.

“Start my lessons with the bow,” Dean said. “Cas wants all of us able to protect ourselves. He's pointed out that this is his land, and the omegas living here should be exempt from the rule that keeps omegas weaponless.”

“Well, there's a clause to prevent people from doing just that, but I dare someone to enforce it upon him.” Naomi gave Dean a pointed look. “You've never seen him angry. Think about that.”

“But...” Dean _had_ seen him angry, though.

“No,” Naomi said gently, shaking her head. “You've seen him indignant. Only once have I seen him genuinely angry, and it was like the wrath of God had descended.”

“Do... Do I want to know?” Dean asked.

“I really don't think you do, dear,” Naomi answered.

 

 


	24. Chapter 24

Dean discovered he liked the bow. It was fun as well as functional. Jo walked him through the basics before leaving him to it, so Dean felt a little glad when his father came out to investigate.

“Very nice bow,” John said.

“Jo made it,” Dean explained. “Cas thinks we all ought to be able to protect ourselves. Not just from humans, but animals.”

“Still illegal, but who the fuck cares?” John commented. “As my father used to say, useless laws weaken necessary ones.” He took the bow from Dean, knocked an arrow, and pulled. He didn't even aim, but it went dead center into the faraway target.

“I'm so impressed right now,” Dean said.

John smiled. “Once you can do this at a full gallop, on the ground is easy. Speaking of which, I saw your horse. Very nice.”

“I need to visit him in a little while,” Dean said. He took the bow back and tried again. This time he was much closer to the center. “His name is Venture.”

“Novak breeds these war horses,” John said. “Selectively, the elder Novak said.”

“What makes them for war?” Dean asked, shooting again. He was getting better.

“A long time ago, people bred horses for a lot of reasons, just like we do today. But, in between, before The Calamity, horses had been replaced by machines.” John sat on a stump and held Dean's quiver for him. “Certain horses were bred to pull heavy loads, some for people wearing very heavy, metal armor. Thankfully, horse enthusiasts were able to save most of the breeds after disaster wiped out so many people. And, here we are, using horses for transportation and farming again.”

“Wow.” Dean used his last arrow, and went to retrieve them. He put them into the quiver. “Want to go with me to visit Venture?”

“Sure, son.”

Venture and his mother were happy to see Dean. Even Brave made a noise at him as they entered. Dean saw they'd been put together, a happy, horsey family. He petted all of them by turns

“I have to admire your alpha's taste,” John said, looking at a horse farther down. He went to his own, and began stroking his neck. “These are some damned fine animals. My poor horse is about to retire. Thought I'd put him out to pasture before I get him killed.”

“I guess that's a good reward, being let to go graze and not carry _you_ ,” Dean joked.

John grinned. “Smart-ass.”

“Better than being a dumb-ass,” Dean deflected.

“Can't agree more.”

They spent an hour in the stables before splitting up. Dean went to the house and to Cas' room. He found his alpha at his desk, writing. The piece of furniture was clean now, but Dean still blushed when he looked at it.

“You smell of fresh wind, snow, horses, your father, and hope,” Cas said, smiling up at him. “With just a touch of embarrassment.”

“You totally owned me on that desk,” Dean reminded. “I'm still not over it.”

“I'm aware,” Cas said, eyes seeking his with kindness and a tinge of sexual interest. “Our relations need not be sterile just because I can't slide myself into you the traditional way.”

Dean's cock gave a jerk. “Cas, the things you say to me,” he protested. “If you get me all hot and bothered before we have to eat with our parents, I'll have a hard time living it down.”

“Forgive me, Dean. It's just that I've never had the inclination to say such things at all, until you.”

Dean couldn't help smiling at that compliment. He opened his mouth to return the sentiment, but he heard Meg shouting up the stairs. “Master Novak! Come quickly!”

Cas lept to his feet and bolted from the room. Like lightning, he was down the stairs. Dean, trying to keep up, came to a skidding halt at the bottom. Through the window that faced the front yard he saw an enormous man with long brown hair beating the crap out of his father, just brutal with his strikes.

“Dean,” Cas said carefully. “Me or you?”

Dean pulled his fans. “He's my father,” he said, and slammed open the door. “Come with me, Cas?”

Servants poured out to see the fight, along with all of the Novak family.

Dean only saw one horse, and it had to belong to the other man because it was scaled to his size. A large wooden box lay in the snow.

“How _could_ you?” The man was shouting as Dean drew up to the skirmish. “How could you _do_ it?” Alpha rage combined with alpha shame in the air, making Dean shiver.

Dean stepped in between, and blocked the big man's next hit, making a lever out of a closed fan to throw him to the ground. “That's enough!” He went to his bleeding, half-unconscious father. “Cas, see that he doesn't come at him again!”

John staggered to his feet, holding a hand over a gash in his forehead. “Don't hurt each other,” he gasped out. “Dean, this is Sam!”

From the porch, Naomi gasped.

Dean felt the earth moving under his feet as he looked up into his brother's face.

“Dean?” Sam said hesitantly. “Dean, is that really you?”

Dean swayed in place. “Sammy?” He would never have recognized his brother. The cute kid had turned into hard, handsome alpha. “You got tall.”

Sam's eyes turned sad and wet. “You got short,” he whispered. And then he surged forward and swept Dean up into a hug. “Dean, Dean, I had no idea! I got your letter, and I went home to tell Dad I was going to find you, and there was a note from him to tell me to go to the attic and get this box.” Sam's words tumbled out like marbles hitting a ceramic bowl. “And I went up there and found it full of letters to me, from you...” He choked on a real sob, and held Dean tighter. “All those _letters_ , Dean. You were alone and scared, and trying to be brave, and I never even got to _read_ them. Fourteen fucking _years_ , Dean!”

“Sammy,” Dean repeated. He was in shock. He'd never really expected to see Sam again. “My brother, Sam. I... I taught you how to walk...” He could hear people crying. Everything was getting dark. He felt his fans sliding out of his hands.

“Oh, shit, Dean? Dean?”

Everything went completely black.

 

* * *

 

Dean awakened in Castiel's bed. He knew by the smell. Groaning, he levered his eyes open.

“Your brother is resting,” Castiel said. “I insisted. He's overwrought and violent by turns, so angry with your father that he's nearly mindless.”

Dean sat up. “I don't know what to think. How to feel. I mean, I'm happy Sam's alive...”

“But you don't know him anymore,” Cas said quietly.

“That, and other things I don't have a name for,” Dean admitted. “Where is he?”

“I put him with Crowley. The tailor insisted he could control him, and he obviously can, or Sam would be either weeping in here, or breathing dragon fire down on John.” Cas gave a short sigh. “As for your father, this has set him back a bit. I'm sorry.”

Dean got out of bed and found his fans on the bureau. “I'll see Dad first, since Sam is either knocked out, or bespelled, by my best friend. Or, both.”

“Be aware my mother has been weeping for your sake the last hour,” Castiel informed. “You may hear her.”

“Your mother comes first, then,” Dean replied. “She'll be my mother too in a few days, and I already rely upon her. I cannot let her cry.”

At that, Cas looked like he'd cry, too. The scent of his pained gratitude made Dean's stomach flip-flop. Dean pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Don't start that. I'm not anyone special because I try to do the right thing.”

“But, you are,” he heard Cas whisper on his way out the door.

Dean went downstairs. Meg, stationed in the hall and cleaning sliver, looked up at him and gave a cautious smile. “You all right?”

“I have no idea,” Dean reported. “I wish I could fix this with a bag of cashews and a knife-wielding, pissed off butler.”

Meg's smile grew. “Me, too,” she said.

Dean entered the east wing. Naomi's sobs and Zachariah's low voice were easy to hear.

“Castiel said, he _said_! He told me Dean was in mourning for a brother he didn't know was alive or dead! I should have had our own people working on this!”

“Naomi, sweetheart, we aren't omniscient, nor should we be,” Zachariah told her.

 _All-knowing_ , Dean remembered.

“That sweet, sweet Dean, pining for his brother over half of his life! They're grown men, now! Childhood completely gone!”

“They can't ever get it back, but that doesn't mean it's over,” Zachariah insisted.

Dean couldn't spy on them anymore. He went to their door, and knocked.

“Who is it?” Zachariah asked, his voice tired.

“Dean,” Dean answered.

The door came open so fast Dean heard the hinges groaning. Naomi pulled Dean into her arms and wept on him. “I'm so sorry for your losses, Dean!”

Dean put his arms around her, tears starting up in his eyes. “That means a lot to me,” he assured her. “I'll be okay. I swear it. Sam's alive, and I can get to know him. It's just another Christmas miracle, right?” He asked, meeting Zachariah's sympathetic eyes over Naomi's shoulder. “My birth family probably won't ever be anything but problematic, or an outright example of what not to do, but I have you guys now.”

Dean patted Naomi on the back a little. “You and Zachariah think you're horrible people, but you're not. I wouldn't love you if you weren't good.”

Naomi clung to him, and cried harder.

Zachariah had to pry her away. He took her to the bed and made her sit, keeping a hand on her shoulder. “Dean, perhaps that tailor has something to calm Naomi and myself? I confess I'm not in the best place in my own head right now, either.”

Dean bowed and quickly went back through the hall and up the stairs. He stuck his head into Castiel's room. “I've made it worse,” he informed with regret. “Getting drugs from Crowley now.”

“I'll go down and see what I can do,” Cas said, getting up.

Dean went to Crowley's room, and knocked.

“Come in, Dean,” Crowley called out.

“How do you always know it's me?” Dean asked, coming in. He leaned on the door as his eyes took in the large frame of his sleeping brother. Sam's feet actually dangled off the bed he was so tall. He had on fairly clean but low quality clothing. His boots were sturdy, but well worn.

“No one else in this house is so preternatural in grace, and barefoot,” Crowley answered. “Your moose of a brother will sleep a good ten hours. His blood pressure was up so high it panic-struck me. Don't worry, he's all right. He needed his slumber.”

“Well, got anything to calm down Naomi and Zachariah?” Dean asked, coming over to stare down at Sam.

Sam didn't look like anyone he knew, but he _did_. It was confusing, and upsetting. Dean's mind felt shaky and _wrong_. He stood on the edge of a great, dividing crevasse, ready to topple over.

“Yes. Let me give you two different doses. Naomi is stronger than Zachariah.” Crowley began grinding herbs in a mortar. “What about the repentant villain of the tale?”

“Might not be a bad idea. He's probably drinking right now,” Dean said, depression falling over him.

“Darling, he'd have to be terribly determined to please you to _not_ be drinking right now. His sins came home to roost right in front of him. Try not to feel too bad if he _is_ bending his elbow. Alcoholism is insidious.” Crowley put his ground up herbs into a small jar, and got another before collecting more. Dean noticed he didn't use the same mortar or pestle.

“I get it,” Dean said.

“Yes. I think you do. You are unusually fair minded and insightful.” Crowley finished his work, and corked both bottles. “Small bottle for Zachariah, larger one for Naomi,” he instructed. “Actually, how about we go to the kitchen and get a proper, pretty setting out for this? Have a pot of good jasmine-black tea to serve, too? A little civility usually settles down the high born.”

“Okay, yeah,” Dean said, appreciating Crowley taking the reins a little bit. “Thanks, Crowley.”

“It's not at all a problem, buttercup.”

Crowley and Dean went into the kitchen. Crowley got a large tray down, and chose a beautiful tea setting of elegant, practically paper thin porcelain. The cups and saucers had gold rims. He chose a little serving pot with a spout, and poured hot water into it, letting it sit while retrieving the tea. “Dean, get some of your leftover flat bread, cut it into small squares, and toast it,” he said.

Dean did as told, making it quick but not sloppy.

“Layer some cream cheese on the bread squares, and put a thin slice of cucumber on top . Just do half of them that way. The other half, use smoked or pickled fish.” Crowley dumped the hot water and added tea leaves to the pot, then added water again.

Dean followed orders, grateful for direction. By the time he finished, Crowley had a well made tray. He'd put on a sugar pot, small, solid silver spoons, and napkins.

“I'll carry Ellen's secondary fireplace kettle if you get the tray,” Crowley said. “You're stronger than me.”

So, Dean carried the tray, and Crowley preceded him with a steaming, iron kettle. Cas let them into the Novak's area quickly when Crowley knocked.

Dean set the tray on the Novak's correspondence table.

“We thought it best if you both had nibbles before taking medicine,” Crowley explained. “A few bites of finger food, and some tea.”

Dean watched, feeling so sorry for Naomi. Her usually bold manner had evaporated, her kind heart so aching for Dean's circumstances that she'd very nearly made herself sick. She accepted a little plate of her favorite food, looked at it, and a fat tear dropped down her face.

“Mother,” Cas crooned, kneeling by the bed. He took her free hand and kissed it tenderly. “You'll feel better if you do eat a little bit, and drink some tea before forcing down the foul swill that Crowley makes for us emotionally retarded alphas.”

A choked little laugh.

Cas smiled, and brushed her hair away from her face. “Let me get you that tea?”

She nodded once, and picked up a sandwich.

Crowley passed a tea cup and saucer to Castiel. Cas balanced it beside his mother and stood.

Zachariah accepted a little food and tea, gingerly sitting beside his wife. He listened to what Crowley said about the herbs, watched him hang the kettle in the fireplace, and gave a general air of weary responsibility.

“Go on and see your father, Dean,” Crowley said. “I'll stay here to see they get their first dose properly, then go back up to watch over your brother.”

“Maybe you should go with Dean, Castiel,” Zachariah suggested. “We're in good hands with Crowley, and John might cause Dean some... stress...”

Cas kissed his mother's forehead, then went right over to his father and did the same thing. He joined Dean at the door, escorting him out.

“I was afraid to open my foolish mouth again,” Dean whispered. “I really didn't intend to make your poor mother worse.”

“Everyone knows it,” Cas murmured, taking him to John's door, and knocking. “Are you ready for the second round?”

“I guess. By the time I have the 'get-to-know-you' round with Sam, I might be mute again,” Dean confessed. “It's already getting harder to talk.” Dean felt like he had a vise squeezing his heart, brain, and throat all at the same time.

Cas opened the door.

John sat in an armchair, staring at the fire, no bottle to be seen. Dean could have burst into tears like the Novak matriarch at seeing he'd resisted the alcohol.

“Dean,” John said tiredly. “Master Novak.”

Dean went around and got a foot stool, sitting on it in front of his father. John had earned some of his respect today by accepting Sam's beating, and just now from not being drunk, so he'd give John a little alpha acknowledgment. He nearly swallowed his own tongue when John promptly slid from his chair and got _lower_ than him.

“I don't deserve that behavior from you, Dean,” John said, his dark eyes full of sorrow. “I'll never deserve it.”

“Dad...”

“Novak,” John said. “If you ever see me accepting omega abidance from my son, you are to _correct_ me, do you hear?”

“I hear you, John Winchester,” Castiel said lowly. “I promise to keep you in line.”

John briefly closed his eyes. “You have to make it stick in my stubborn, thick head. Please do it before I lose my nerve.”

Dean watched, horrified and not understanding, as Cas knocked his father to the floor and put his boot on his neck. John seemed to automatically writhe a little bit, but he couldn't get any leverage, and Cas was strong.

“Cas,” Dean whispered, his world spinning. He thought he would vomit. The conflict of having his father being schooled by his mate... It was too much. He'd had too much _already_. This was awful, and frightening. “Cas, _stop_.”

Cas instantly quit pinning John to the floor. “Be glad Dean cared enough,” he said. “I wouldn't have intended to harm you, but I'm carrying a bit of a grudge, myself.” He leaned down and helped John to sit upright on the floor.

Dean realized this had been the same as a fucking wolf stepping down for a younger one, and his brain exploded in fury. He felt his fists clenching, his shoulders hunching up. He shot to his feet and rounded on Cas and John. “Does this shit really restore order to your universes?” He demanded of his father and his bonded.

They stared at him in complete surprise, which only made his wrath swell. It felt like his body would catch _fire_. His hands were shaking. All the trauma he'd suffered, all the patience he'd used, and they still could act like this in front of him?

John suddenly collapsed as if pushed, and Castiel grabbed the fireplace mantle for support. Dean smelled the scent of his own rage. He hated it. He'd never been this angry, this disgusted, in all his life.

The people he cared for were so _stupid_.

“Sweet Lord,” he heard Crowley swear from right behind him. The tailor's hand came down on his shoulder, kind and firm. “Dean, come with me. Come with me right now,” he insisted.

Stumbling, Dean was pulled from the room and down the hall. Crowley took him past Meg and outside, into the snow, standing him directly in the wind.

Blowing his scent away.

“Crowley,” Dean said, all broken inside, barely audible. “They didn't mean to hurt me. Please don't kill them.” All his fire was draining out. He was so cold now. “I'm gonna lose my voice again. I have to ask you now.”

Dean wanted to go to sleep. Sleep would take him out of all of this. Make him numb.

“I'd never hurt the people you care about,” Crowley said gently. “I'm sorry you're surrounded by morons. Goes to show, even morons know quality. All of this is about you.” He put his arm around Dean's waist. “That's not even remotely fair.”

Crowley pulled Dean back inside the house. He led him upstairs. “You have to be with him tonight even if you don't feel strong enough to face him,” he said, taking him into the bedroom Dean shared with Castiel. “But, you don't have to sleep in his bed until you can talk about what happened, and how you feel.” He searched until finding a blanket, and folded it until it was thick and cushioning.

Dean built up the fire while Crowley made him a decent bed a safe distance from stray sparks.

“Your night is going to suck,” Crowley said. “We both know it. You were justified. Far more able to choke down the anger and resentment than I'd ever be, but you're still an omega. You want Castiel's sanction.” He sighed, and got Dean Castiel's own pillow to put on the makeshift bed. “Sometimes I hate what we are.”

“Me, too,” Dean whispered, barely able to get it out.

“Well, be comforted that they don't like hurting you,” Crowley suggested. He helped Dean take off everything but his silk trousers, and ushered him under the blankets. “Not even a little, in fact.”

Dean nodded. He pulled the covers down to his waist so he wouldn't get too hot. He felt cold inside, though.

“Good night, darling,” Crowley murmured, and squatted down so he could kiss Dean's temple. “Everything will be clearer in the morning.” He gave Dean his fans, and left quietly.

Dean drifted in a sick feeling of absolute despair. If he'd been a lesser person he'd have crept back out and let the winter just have him. His very birth had caused these problems. The fact he _existed_.

He'd fought for some personal meaning all his life. Looked at the bright spots even though it was so hard sometimes. Turned his fear into determination, his abuse into perspective on what to do, what not to do. He was so tired. Beaten down.

He heard the door open, and felt afraid. Cas wouldn't hurt him, but Dean didn't want to talk about what happened. He couldn't. He kept seeing his dad underneath Cas' boot. It had been too much like what he'd done to Cornelius Errgard.

“I... I won't come in unless you allow it,” Castiel said. He sounded miserable, too. Like he'd fall apart.

Dean waved a fan at him over his shoulder.

“But, you're frightened, and in so much pain,” Cas protested. “I'll make you worse.”

Dean repeated his invitation.

Castiel shut the door, and locked it. Dean heard the key drop onto the desk. He heard Cas sit and begin removing his boots.

Those scuffed up boots that had cost a lot of money, that Cas couldn't be bothered to polish or take care of because he actually went outside and did things in them. Farm work. Taking care of his bees.

Holding John Winchester to the expensively carpeted floor.

Ruto and Sphinx had apparently been waiting outside the door, for they came over to him now. The cat curled up at his back, and Ruto at his feet.

“That light inside you is dim and flickering, and I hate myself for that,” Cas said thickly.

Alpha arrogance.

 _It's not all about you_ , Dean said with his fan. _I'm tired_.

Dean shut his eyes, closed his mind, and took himself away.

 

* * *

 

Dean wanted to go right back to sleep the moment he awakened. He didn't have the strength to face anyone.

The weight of everyone's happiness rested upon his shoulders, crushing the life out of him. He couldn't breathe. The room looked too big, much too big. His own skin wouldn't hold him. He clawed at himself, gasping for air. He dragged himself to the old, long-abandoned chamber pot, and vomited into it.

He heard someone talking, and couldn't make sense of it. Even as he puked he scratched at himself, trying to split his skin open so he could get _out_ of it. Get out of this hateful, shameful body that seemed determined to keep him enslaved.

Fingers touched his forehead. He heard the most delightful singing from somewhere far away, jubilant and full of pure, innocent love.

Dean fell back into blessed darkness.

 

* * *

 

The smell of green, growing things and warm sunlight in heather. Dean heard birdsong. A mockingbird. He'd always loved them. They had no song of their own, just took pleasure in all the songs.

Dean opened his eyes to look into a beautiful blue sky with white, fluffy clouds. One of them looked a little bit like a castle. He traced it with his mind a few minutes, watched it slowly dissolve. He sat up to get his bearings, and saw he was on a gentle, rolling hill.

Cas was sitting beside him. Dean couldn't smell him at all. He felt oddly grateful for that.

“I'm dreaming,” Dean said.

“Yes,” Cas agreed.

Dean thought he knew where he was now. He'd made this place a long time ago. Yes. This was where he used to go when he needed to remember sorrow had an opposite. That was before hearing the poem Cas read to him, when he came to understand everything that brings you pain also brings you joy. Too closely tied to separate.

“You're pretty wise, aren't you, Dream Cas?” He asked.

“Compared to whom?” Cas asked.

Dean pulled his legs up, and wrapped his arms around them. “I could stay here, and enjoy the lie. It's nice.”

“I won't try to influence you,” Cas promised.

“I can't smell you. I smell everything else, but not you.”

“Do you want to?

“No, not yet.”

Dean watched the clouds awhile longer. “That one up there,” he said, pointing. “That looks like a fox. Have you ever seen a fox?”

“Yes. They are beautiful creatures,” Cas replied.

Dean thought Dream Cas should know how to smile. “Your mother told me about the old fisherman that fed cats,” he said. “The one who told you a joke.”

Dream Cas did smile, then. Just a little.

“You were a beautiful child.” Dean nudged him the slightest bit with his shoulder. “The prettiest little girl, ever.”

“Dean,” Dream Cas chastised mildly, blushing.

“You grew up pretty, too,” Dean said, unfazed by a reprimand when it wasn't honest. “I wish you didn't think of yourself as a monster, Dream Cas. It hurts me that you won't ever change your mind about it.”

“I'm sorry, Dean,” Dream Cas said, bowing his head.

“Don't be sorry. Just quit it,” Dean said. “You're a good guy. I believe in you.”

Dream Cas hid his face in his hands. Then, he simply faded away.

Dean supposed that in dreams, people were unreliable. They changed into other people, or changed their age. Something. Good that the real Cas was reliable. He went back to watching clouds.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------=

 

“All these years. Can I at least look in on him?”

Sam.

Dean could hear him, but he couldn't open his eyes or twitch, or even awaken fully. He was like a dead thing with ears.

“He's sleeping, very deeply,” Castiel told him. He still sounded wrecked. “You may, though. Try not to awaken him.”

Soft footsteps, hushed like walking into a mourning house.

“Oh, he looks like Mom,” Sam whispered. “He even... He even smells like her a little. Clean.” A pause. “What happened?”

“He's just had too much,” Cas answered. “More than anyone could bear. He'd convinced himself you were dead. He was trying to patch things up with your father. My mother had a crying fit like I've never seen, understanding his pain for what it was.

“Fourteen years of thinking he'd never have any family, then dumped into mine... And then, I upset him in dominating John. Your father asked me to correct him, and I did it. Neither of us were thinking about what it would do to him, only obeying the rules alphas use with each other.”

“Oh,” Sam said sadly. “My poor brother. Always so strong, taking care of me. And now I can't do the same for him.”

“Yes, you can. You can stay here as long as you want, Sam. This side of the house you don't have to see your father if you don't want to. You said your tour was over.”

“It is. I'm out of the military. I got badly wounded. My limp is apparently enough to make me unsuitable.” Sam sighed.

“My mother and father would like to learn about you, get to know you,” Cas said. “They love Dean deeply, and so they're interested.”

“I don't shine like my brother,” Sam said.

Cas sucked in a breath. “What... do you mean?”

“I mean, I'm not of his class,” Sam said. “I'm crass and ill mannered, and I actually like to beat up the people that fuck me over."

Cas gave a tired little chuckle. “So? You'll fit in. Trust me on that. I come from a long line of fishermen.”

“Well, I'd like to stay, then,” Sam said. “I want to be with my brother.”

“I'll have the room just down from this one, cleaned and readied for you,” Cas said. “In the meantime, why not go down to the kitchen and have someone make you some food? You slept twelve hours, and have been pacing back and forth for at least three.”

“I will. Please alert me if he awakens and wants me,” Sam said, sadly and earnestly.

Dean knew he'd never be allowed to sleep himself to death. No one would allow that less than himself. But, he wasn't ready to be awake. Not even for Sam. He shut his ears, and returned to grassy hillside and fluffy clouds.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------=

 

“Castiel, what are we going to do?” Dean heard Naomi ask. Her voice was as bad as Cas' had been, destroyed with unshed tears. Alphas trying to contain their emotions to keep their smells down and not make him worse.

How did that feel? Dean wondered just a touch on the snotty side. He'd spent his whole life doing that, training to project a dishonest emotion or scent. And, being weaker, the risk in failing had been much worse.

“I don't know, Mother,” Cas answered. “Dean's body has all but shut down. I can't get him awake enough to eat or drink, and the natural processes are on hold too, so he's storing harmful waste chemicals.”

“You can keep him alive, though?” Naomi asked.

“For awhile. But, if Dean has decided to move on rather than face all this pain, how can we hold that against him?” Cas replied. “The agony we're smelling didn't happen overnight. He has years and years of abandonment, abuse, and terror to recover from. It's asking a lot of him to get better for our sakes. Especially since a lot of his pain is based on the fact we all need him. Every last one of us. That's a terrible burden for him.”

And, there it was. Dean had known that going from privation to a pedestal would come back and bite him on the ass eventually. He'd lost his perspective on things. Cas and his amazing, generous family, compared to a dead mother and screwed up father. Well. You pull a man out of a snow drift and you kill him by dumping him in a hot bath. It might seem like the best thing to do, but no.

“I ask myself 'why' because I dare not ask it of God,” Naomi whispered. “Why make someone this beautiful and righteous only to take him away so his light can't shine? Why subject him to capricious, universal whimsy?”

“It's a lesson in value, Mother,” Cas told her softly. “I had the money to buy Dean, and we all took it for granted I was right to do it, simply because we didn't intend to hurt him. But, Dean's worth is far above the gold used to get him here. Here is the Luciferian trap, what the Evil One intended. Make a race of humans totally at the mercy of those with strength and baser appetites, and see how quickly they destroy each other.”

“We're just pawns in a game,” Naomi said. “It's chess, and we've lost our king. A king is only allowed to make one move at a time, but in any direction. Dean has taken few moves forward, and now he's retreating. If we don't help him, he'll take himself off the board forever.”

“Mother, of all things, wouldn't you say Dean has good judgment?” Cas asked.

“Yes, son, I would,” she answered.

“Then, let's trust him to do what's best for himself. None of us would recover if he died, but this isn't about us, now. We have to step back and give him the dignity of deciding what he wants. We owe it to him.”

“Castiel, you frighten me,” Naomi said, giving a small cry. “No one wants Dean back more than you. How can you be so calm?”

“I'm _not_ calm. I'm _sick_ with fear he's going to choose to leave. But, Mother, he's never had any of his own choices. How can I take the _most important one_ away, simply because _I_ don't want him to die?” Castiel's voice cut through Dean's stupor. “He's earned my support _however I can give it_ , and I'm not allowing anyone, not even you, to attempt and cajole him into returning to this turmoil. His own body betrays him, Mother. What do you think it's like to live _entirely_ at the clemency of others? Always.”

Naomi left, crying.

Dean lay there. His fluffy white clouds were a lie. The grassy hill and sweet heather were lies.

Castiel wasn't lying.

Cas _understood_.

Okay.

Okay, he could do this. He could face it all, face these sweet, screwed-up, selfish, caring people, as long as one person understood him. That it was Cas made all the difference.

No, this wasn't perfect. People were hiding things from him, still. He sensed it. He'd heard it. But, here was where he had to put the same amount of faith in Cas as Cas put in him. Whatever was being kept from him apparently was for his own safety. Again, arrogance. Most things boiled down to it.

Dean thought the worst thing was to be a hypocrite, not a liar or a keeper of secrets.

Dean would let Cas have him. He'd marry Cas. He'd hold off on kids, because maybe he wasn't thinking of having them for the right reasons. He'd have to examine himself some, and think. And, he'd submit to Cas of his own choice, but there it ended. No more deference to people who didn't appreciate it fully. Not even if he loved them.

Oh, this was going to be a fight. Worse than he'd ever experienced before. A lot of people would hate him for not being a good little submissive. Probably no one at Tor-Valen, though. Naomi and Zachariah even wanted him to look them in the eyes and not cringe away.

He'd consider it more later. Right now he was disgustingly aware of needing a bath and a metric ton of food. And, a piss.

Oh, and a haircut.

Gross. He was _nasty_. Had Cas been wiping him off with a dirty rag?

“Cas,” he croaked.

Castiel appeared in front of his swimmy eyes. “Dean? Oh, Dean! Dean, may I touch you?”

“I don't... know why you'd want to... I'm so _dirty_.” Dean groaned. “My skin... Please, please get me a bath, Cas.”

“This moment,” Cas vowed. He went to the bell pull, and tugged. Dean heard the far off bell faintly, though he usually never did. The house had to be as quiet as a tomb.

Well, that's what everyone thought it was.

“Sir?”

Meg's voice.

“Have a bath drawn up here immediately,” Cas ordered. “Dean's awake. You may inform everyone, but stress that until he asks for company I won't allow him to be disturbed.”

“Yes, sir. I'm so glad. I'll have Ellen make him a good broth, if that's agreeable.”

“Good. Yes. Broth.” Cas sounded frantic. “Vegetable? Beef? What's good for someone so starved?”

“Sir, let us handle it,” Meg suggested gently. “What Dean needs from you is the important stuff, not the minutiae.”

Good old Meg. She knew exactly how to talk to Cas.

Dean tried to sit up, and dislodged a cat and a dog. Ruto was under his arm, levering him upward even as Cas bent to help. But, Cas didn't touch him, because Dean hadn't said he could. Dean took his hand, and felt faintly ashamed at the shuddering exhale of relief Cas made. “Help me to sit, Cas,” he said.

“Here?”

“It's good enough for now.” Dean leaned on Ruto's side, and patted him. “Why is my dog so skinny?”

“Neither Ruto nor Sphinx would eat,” Cas said. “They made it plain that if I buried one I'd bury three. They have not left you. They made it a point to soil the center of my bed to show their contempt for me.”

Dean, still not looking directly as Cas, petted both cat and dog. “Guys,” he said. “It's not Cas' fault. He's doing the best he can.”

“It's still lamentably poor, and they know it,” Cas protested.

Dean heard heavy pairs of boots coming up the stairs. “Please cover me with a sheet or something before you let them in,” Dean said. It took all his energy to stay upright.

Cas grabbed a knitted throw, and draped it over Dean.

Dean grasped the top part of it and dragged it over his head, hearing Cas give a startled little inhale. “I don't want other eyes on me,” Dean explained. “What you told Meg was right. No company until I get my shit straight.”

“A- all right, Dean,” Castiel said, pained.

Dean sat as patiently as possible, in silence, while Wilkes and Faraday steadily filled the tub. No one spoke. Dean identified them by their smells. When the door closed a final time with Cas thanking them, Dean knew they wouldn't be disturbed until someone brought up the broth.

On cue, a knock came.

Cas opened the door. “Thank you, Meg,” he said.

“Ellen put it on a heated stone so Dean could take his time,” she informed. “Set it on the hearth to prolong that.”

“Of course.”

The door shut, and Cas locked it. He carried the tray past Dean, and Dean heard it touching down on the stones.

Dean pulled the throw off his body. “I need your help in getting these trousers off,” he said. “Also, not to fall into the tub.”

Cas helped him, his touch very light. Soon he was lowering Dean into the hot water.

Oh, he felt sore. Weak. He couldn't lift his arms to use the soap. He let his head drop back and stared at the ceiling. Maybe if he sat here long enough he'd gain some strength. “My teeth are repellant,” he said, the words falling out flat. “Please, Cas, get me the baking soda and a brush. I can taste _death_.”

Castiel quickly got him the items, kneeling beside the tub with a cup and the wash bowl. He gave Dean a drink of water, put the bowl in the tub to float, and dipped a brush into the soda canister. “Shall I?”

“Yeah. I can't lift my arms,” Dean said.

Having someone else brush his teeth felt odd, but Cas watched Dean closely enough to know when he needed to spit and rinse. He spat up a good amount of blood, old and new.

“Okay?” Cas asked.

“Yeah, this'll do it,” Dean told him shortly. For having slept a long time, he certainly didn't feel as if he'd rested.

Cas took the stuff away, and returned. “Do you wish me to bathe you?”

“Please,” Dean said, shutting his eyes.

It was a strange bath. Cas didn't get in with him. And, while he was thorough, washing every last part of Dean, Dean felt not a flicker of arousal. Not once. He didn't feel much of anything. Except, he did enjoy Castiel's hands. Hard not to appreciate such care and consideration.

“ _He has years and years of abandonment, abuse, and terror to recover from. It's asking a lot of him to get better for our sakes.”_

“ _We have to step back, and give him the dignity of deciding what he wants. We owe it to him.”_

“ _He's earned my support however I can give it, and I'm not allowing anyone, not even you, to attempt and cajole him into returning to this turmoil.”_

 

Damn.

Cas really did love him.

It wasn't the love that consumes, the love of ownership, at all. Cas loved him because he considered him precious. And, not because of any of his talents, or for breeding, or for helping him keep the manor. It was beyond that.

“ _I don't deserve to sleep in your home,” John said._

“ _Nevertheless, your pain bothers Dean, and I would not add one more dram to the vile potion that began distilling within him the moment you stuffed him into a bag,” Castiel informed. “As it stands now, Dean is righteous. I won't throw him off balance.”_

“ _In my life I've never seen a man as lovely as you,” Castiel murmured. “Every feature both handsome and beautiful... And, inside, you're like a burning sun. Pure and bright. No one could look at you and deny God's existence. He put extra work into your creation.”_

In his own way, Cas struggled with his birth designation, too. He hadn't wanted to become the typical, swift to anger alpha, one that owned an omega. He'd become that through no fault of his own. He'd only wanted to please his family, keep his home, and to act as Dean needed him to act.

“Do you want to soak?” Cas asked, letting his hands drape over the edge of the tub. He waited for Dean to say something, rested his forehead on the metal.

Dean looked at that riot of dark sable hair, at those long and elegant hands.

If Cas could help him become the kind of omega he needed to be, then Dean could help him become the alpha that nature insisted without making him a tool to his own impulses. Simple as that.

“No,” Dean said. “In fact, if it wasn't such a bother, I'd have the water replaced. It reeks.”

Cas straightened up. “Let me get you out. No one here will care to replace your water, Dean. I promise that.”

Cas lifted him from the tub and placed him in a soft chair. He put a bath sheet over him, then got a standing screen and concealed Dean with it.

Dean drifted thoughtlessly through the water bailing, the tub wiping, and more water being brought up. He couldn't help Cas at all once it was time to get in the fresh water.

Lying there in the blessed heat, Dean enjoyed how his weight dispersed. Cas held his head far enough up that he didn't get water in his ears. Dean just let him do as he pleased. Cas' touch kept him anchored.

Still, he fell asleep before the bath ended.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean really doesn't know how special he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the part where you all pelt me with rotten fruit.

Dean felt Cas had him propped up against his body, and that his legs were stretched out. Blankets. He was in bed.

“Dean, can you drink the broth?” Cas asked.

“I'll wet the bed,” Dean told him. “I have to go. Right now.”

Cas pulled him out and carried him to the closet toilet. “How about standing?”

“Keep me braced.” Dean fumbled with his silk pants.

Oh, God. So much better. It went on and on. He could have cried with relief. He shook off, wiped, and got himself decent. Cas turned him so he could wash his hands at the bowl stand. Dean caught sight of himself in a mirror, there.

When had Cas put in a mirror?

Dean's very first thought was that someone looked like utter shit. Then, he remembered that was his face. Pale, gaunt, his cheekbones stark. Darkness under his eyes. Bloodless lips.

“Not so pretty now,” Dean commented tonelessly. He let Cas dry his hands. Once again, he got carried to the bedroom.

For what seemed an eternity, Dean endured sitting upright, getting a cup put to his mouth. He'd swallow broth and mentally drift away only to be brought back over and over by the cup. It started to piss him off. He'd quit trying to keep his eyes open ages ago. He wanted to sleep. And, real sleep, not a weird coma in which he could half-hear shit going on around him. “You want me to drink that, you do it the right way,” he told Cas. “Or, you kiss me on the mouth in between. Your choice.”

He didn't feel the cup, didn't hear anything but Castiel breathing harshly.

Then, Cas pressed a kiss to Dean's mouth. Soft, sanctioning, sweetness. It was different from being fed. A lot different.

Pure.

Dean accepted the next drink without complaint. Five more drinks and five more kisses. Dean _felt_ Castiel's gratitude and caring like worship. “The thing is,” he said when Cas put the cup down. “What I thought was alpha appreciation? Was Castiel thinking he's some kind of a beast, and being grateful a human being wanted to know him.”

“Yes,” Cas agreed, and so quietly.

“Even though Castiel is surrounded by ordinary human beings that come damn close to worshiping him,” Dean went on. “Ellen finding joy in getting Castiel to eat what she makes, or Bobby spending time with Castiel in the stables just because he likes him.”

No reply. Dean could practically _taste_ Cas thinking about Dean's true but slightly disrespectful words.

“But then,” Dean said, barreling on, “Castiel gets Dean, and Dean isn't interested in keeping the arrangement uncomplicated. Dean starts asking for things Castiel's _never_ been asked for. And Castiel is off balance at first, just from newness. But, he rallies.”

“Yes,” Cas agreed, now sounding very nervous. Dean still hadn't opened his eyes, not once.

“Castiel discovers he _is_ actually an alpha. He can't keep his nature buried because Dean keeps wanting more intimacy. And that intimacy feels good. Better than killing?”

“Very different,” Cas confessed, barely audible.

“I thought so.” Dean quit while he was ahead. “Will poor, stupid Castiel put poor, stupid Dean to bed so they can rest their poor, stupid, infinitely compatible bodies together?”

A pause.

“Poor, stupid Castiel will be happy to put poor, stupid Dean into bed,” came the reply, slightly amused.

“Poor, stupid Dean thanks poor, stupid Castiel, and requests complete darkness, naked skin, and being held.”

“Poor, stupid-.” Cas broke off. “I'm not doing that anymore.” He stripped Dean and got him comfortable, doused the lights, and started removing his own clothes.

Dean decided to lift his eye lids. Castiel stripping by the light of the fireplace tempted his vision even if his body felt worn out and sexless. His reward was a moving display of grace, strength, and a pair of cry-worthy hip bones. Then, the treat of that heavy, soft cock. And, damn, his legs were beautiful.

Cas got in bed and pulled the curtains closed. Dean heard a slight rustling sound, and a chiming noise. “Do you want this?” He took Dean's hand, pulled his palm up, and let the Novak family necklace coil up in the hollow. The beads felt cool and slick and comforting.

“Thanks.” Dean hung it in its usual place. “One more thing before I pass out. What day is it?”

“Thursday,” Cas said in a strange tone. “You were gone for nearly a week.”

“We have the bonding ceremony on Saturday, and Christmas is the next day,” Dean noted.

“You still want to bond with-.”

“Yes. Shut up and hold me.”

“Of course, Dean.” Cas scooped him up close.

Dean fell into a natural sleep, for the moment, content.

 

* * *

 

 

Dean had to allow Sam to see him the next day. It was only right. He didn't have much strength, but he'd just lie about in bed. They'd talk. He waited, propped up with a very, very light breakfast on a tray across his thighs. Yogurt, two slices of paper thin roast beef, three apple slices, and all the tea he could manage. It was by far a small offering, and to Dean it looked huge.

Cas was visiting Crowley. Dean rather thought they had a lot to talk about, in secret, keeping things away from him. His lover and his best friend were sneaky. Even with each other. Never coming out and saying exactly what they knew, only letting the other surmise it. Quite frankly, Dean found that exhausting.

The door opened, and Sam filled the frame. Eyes sad and happy at the same time, glad Dean lived but upset at how he presented.

“Pull up a chair, Sammy,” Dean invited. “I mean that. I might need help eating.”

Sam got a chair from near the fireplace, putting it beside the bed, close. “You look like shit.”

“Yeah. I figure the bonding officiator is going to think I'm a plague victim, or something. We might have to tie him down to get the ceremony done.” It was a weak joke, but Dean felt better for having made an attempt. He got his heavy arm up and made his fingers curl around a spoon. “Sorry I scared you. I can't lie. I was in a better place, and wanted to stay there, even if it was a construction of my own brain.”

Sam poured his tea for him. Dean noticed his brother's gigantic hands were graceful. Like their mother's in shape.

“I'm glad you decided to give this world another go,” Sam said simply, honestly. So honestly that it wrenched a pain in Dean's heart. “You don't know me well enough to come back for my sake, or Dad, so...?”

“Cas,” Dean relented. “Don't you dare breathe a word. He was respecting it if I wanted to die, and that's why I came back.” Dean spooned a little of Ellen's delicious, thick yogurt into his mouth, and swallowed with effort. “No one's ever been as interested in giving me free will and choices as Cas.”

“I gather not,” Sam said gently. He gave Dean a little sugar in his black tea, and a splash of thick cream. Dean didn't take it that way, but he didn't give a shit. “How'd you meet?”

“You're gonna laugh.” Dean managed another spoonful of yogurt.

“Oh, I insist upon laughing at something,” Sam said, grinning.

Wow. Mom's eyes. Mom's love of _anything_ funny.

Dean gathered himself.

“Cas heard I was a trouble-maker, and wanted an omega that wouldn't bow down to his family,” Dean answered. “Sent his butler to buy me. I had five different plans for how to get away by the time I got here, and the second I clapped eyes on him I went submissive. Completely.”

Sam scrunched his face. “How is that funny?”

Oh, wow. Dean hadn't seen that expression in years. Years and years and years. Sam's I'm-showing-you-I-heard-but-I-think-you're-crazy, face.

Dean's little Sammy was still in there.

“It's funny because I wouldn't be what he thought I should, and it rattled the hell out of him,” Dean said, giving a tired chuckle. “He had no idea what to do with me. Still doesn't.”

Sam did smile, then. “Are you at least happy here, Dean?”

“I'm happier here than I've been since I left home,” Dean said.

Sam's eyes acquired a flinty, dangerous hardness. “Since you were dragged off and dumped,” he corrected. “Don't call it anything else.”

“I forgave him, Sam,” Dean said. “I haven't had to watch him fall apart like you have. He's lost your respect showing all that weakness. Please don't take Dad away from me. I don't want to lose him twice.” Dean tried a slice of the cold beef. It tasted too much like _animal_ , and he dropped it. “You can have my roast beef,” he said.

Sam took it and practically inhaled it. “What do you want it replaced with?” He asked, honoring Dean's silent request to drop the topic of Dad.

“Just ask Ellen if she'd make me oatmeal with lavender honey drizzled on top for lunch,” Dean told him. “I'll take cream of wheat, too, if oatmeal's not possible.”

“Done,” Sam said easily. “You know, I can't believe I'm siting here, talking to you. I can't believe I ever swallowed Dad's lies about you turning into a monster. You're exactly the brother I had, just... smaller.” He smiled briefly. Pained. Acknowledging the trauma and distance. Wanting to know Dean. Desperately.

Dean was so tired, and daunted, but he laughed. “Dip me an apple quarter into that vanilla yogurt and feed it to me, you irksome little hero.”

Sam did as Dean wanted, smiling broadly. “You remember.”

“I never forget anything, Sammy. Literally.” Dean bit down, and went through the laborious process of chewing. Apples were so good, but also a lot of work.

“You have eidetic memory?” Sam asked.

Dean swallowed. “What's that?” He asked, humoring Sam and his need to show off his brain. He already knew what it meant because Cas had told him.

“Never forgetting anything, seeing your memories as pictures, sounds, smells, the whole works.” Sam dipped the apple piece again, and offered it.

“Yeah,” Dean said. His near-perfect memory sure did make for temptingly realistic dreams. “Sounds about right.” He took the piece and again worked hard at getting apple softened up enough to swallow.

“Damn, Dean. That's actually pretty rare,” Sam said.

“Cas has it, too,” Dean said. “Maybe we'll have little eidetic memory children.”

Sam chuckled. “Eager for the kids?”

“I want at least five,” Dean said. “I'll _settle_ for getting three.”

Sam was quiet while he fed him a second apple quarter. Then, he looked Dean in the eyes, so sad, but again, so happy. “You _are_ Dean. My big brother, who could throw a rock so hard it would shatter the clay targets we made from what seemed like miles away, but you always had a doll in the crook of your other arm.”

Dean chuckled. “Those dolls. Mom enjoyed making them for me. She'd let me design their faces and clothes. I had three of them.”

“They're in the attic,” Sam said. “I kept them. I stored them in camphor and cedar so bugs wouldn't bother them. I can get 'em for you, if you want. For your kids.”

A lump rose in Dean's throat. Oh, damn. What Sam must have _felt_ in order to keep those dolls. It made Dean sick, but he carefully kept that out of his scent. “Thanks. Yeah. When the weather turns good, and you're headed that way.”

Sam nodded. “So... Tell me about that Kevin. He's been hanging out with me, filling in the blanks about you.”

Dean had strength enough to cock his head at Sam. His reward for the effort was a bright, sudden blush on his brother's face.

“I... It's not like that,” Sam protested, and Dean thought he was telling the truth. “He's just interesting. He comes from Xia Pau. I had a duty tour there once.”

“Yeah, about you being a soldier,” Dean said. “You're twenty-two. What'd you do, lie about your age?”

Sam made a face, another one Dean remembered. It was the I'm-not-going-to-lie-even-though-I-want-to,-because-I'm-noble-like-that, face. “Yeah. Yeah, I couldn't stand being in the house anymore. I told the recruiter I was seventeen, and asked him to lie for me so I could fight the Maholak. He agreed. My size made the lie easy. I was just thirteen.”

“Fuck,” Dean cursed. “You stupid kid!”

“I know, I know!” Sam said, holding his hands out. “But, I was always smart for my age, and I got big really quick, Dean. I'm here, aren't I?”

“If I was halfway able, I'd spank you,” Dean said. “Don't roll your eyes. I could do it.”

“Apparently,” Sam said, looking at the fans Dean had on the bedspread. “One block and pull and I was on my ass. No one's ever done that to me. I was shocked as hell.”

“Omega warrior,” Dean said with a wink.

Sam laughed. “Really?” Now, he looked delighted. His eyes sparkled.

Oh, their mom's eyes...

“You bet.” Dean pointed to the remaining piece of apple. “Eat that. I can't.”

Sam gave him a brief look of mild condemnation before taking it. “I'm not lying. I'm going to tell Ellen exactly how much you ate.”

“You do that. She'll be all right once she hears what I want for lunch. I promise I'll eat all of it, too.” Dean drank the tepid, milky, too sweet tea, and grimaced. “I'm getting tired. I need more sleep.”

Sam collected the tray and stood. He pushed the chair back and looked down at Dean, some hope in his eyes. “You _are_ going to get better. I can't have you leave, not now.”

“I'm not going anywhere,” Dean promised. He smiled. “I love you, kid.”

Sam blinked furiously, and swallowed. “Oh, shit, Dean. I love you, too. I never thought I'd hear you say that again.” He looked up and shuddered. “Sorry. I gotta... Yeah. Take my manly tears away in private.”

Dean smiled, and curled up. “Before you do, Galahad, tell Prince Charming I need him.”

“Okay. See you later, Dean.” Sam left, and shut the door quietly.

Dean, feeling calmer in his soul than he had in absolute years, drifted. Cas came in and locked the door behind himself.

“Who is Prince Charming? Panomu doesn't have royalty anymore.”

Dean cracked a weary grin. “It's you, Cas.”

“Oh.” Cas sat on the bed. “What do you need of me, Dean?”

Dean looked at that handsome, earnest face. Right now, no matter what Dean asked for, he'd likely get it. That probably should have tempted him. Instead, it made him feel bad.

“Crowley has my wedding kimono and obi,” Dean said. “I'm good as far as what I need. A little more strength would be nice...” He shrugged. “Is everything else ready?”

“The officiator is already here,” Cas said. “He's being entertained by my mother and father. The ceremony is in the morning. All we have to do is be there.”

“You won't skip out on me, will you?” Dean teased.

“No.” Cas just looked at him, unaware he was being deviled. “Even if you and I wanted to forget all about this, we couldn't. I mean, I could arrange for you to flee, but I'd lose the manor.”

“Even now?” Dean asked, feeling a shot of anger taking him. “Your parents would still hold it over you?”

“They painted themselves into a corner,” Cas explained, sniffing the air and looking uneasy. “The reason I finally capitulated wasn't because they _ordered_ me to marry an omega. They gambled that I wouldn't want to see the entire family ruined, and made a legal contract that would dissolve all of the Novak holdings if I didn't follow through with a declaration of bonding.”

Cas looked to the side. “You can't imagine I want to be responsible for that. Yet, I will, Dean. If you want to run, I'll help you.” He sniffed the air, again scenting Dean's anger and disquiet. “It's very different, smelling you angry. It's far more judgmental than alpha anger. Upright.”

“I didn't hurt you that day, did I?” Dean asked. He had to know. He knew Cas and John had been affected, but at the time he held so much rage. He'd cared, but he also hadn't cared at all. Just expressing himself. Because, he'd never felt more of a need to let go, let his sleeping anger awaken.

Cas' lips turned up into a twisted half-smile. “It felt like God reached down and gave me a shake,” he confessed. “Your father lost consciousness for a good three minutes.”

Dean didn't understand. “I'm only an omega.”

“You're the Righteous Man,” Cas corrected. “Never cruel, only just.”

They looked at each other.

“I wasn't joking when I said we were stupid,” Dean commented.

“I wasn't downplaying by agreeing,” Cas replied.

Dean thought about that, and decided to go a step farther in laying down his cards. “I know you're keeping something from me,” he said, watching Cas' eyes go somber and guilty. “And, I've come to the conclusion that you wouldn't be if it wasn't fucking _important_. Therefore, I'm never going to ask you what it is. But, on the day that you can't hide it anymore, you promise me that whatever happens, you won't immediately freak out over losing your big, important secret.”

“Dean, that's very generous,” Cas said softly. “Thank you.” He paused to nod. “I will do my very best not to 'freak out' if my secret is revealed. You must do the same, however.”

“Fine.” Dean pushed himself back into his stack of pillows. He closed his eyes a moment. “I need to rest now. Tomorrow's going to be bad.”

“Why?” Cas asked anxiously. “Are you afraid?”

“No. No, not of you, Cas, or of being your property, or whatever else. But, the way these ceremonies work, I'm going to have to be standing the entire time. An omega getting bonded in a chair, or lying down, isn't legal. Symbolically, it means I don't agree to the union.”

At this bit of news, Cas' eyes went wide. “Dean, _can_ you stand for an hour?”

“I'll have to. Maybe Crowley's got some kind of magic potion that will help me stay upright. Would you ask?”

Cas bolted up and got the door unlocked fast, vanishing down the hall.

Dean went to sleep.

 

* * *

 

The next time Dean awakened, Crowley was stretched out on the bed beside him, reading, obviously waiting for him to awaken. Sphinx sat on the tailor's lap, looking supremely smug. Ruto had snuggled up to Dean.

“Hello, darling,” Crowley said, closing his book and tossing it down to the foot of the bed. He stroked Sphinx, and she began to purr loudly. “You have such wonderful familiars.”

“What's that?” Dean scratched Ruto's belly, enjoying how the dog groaned and kicked.

“Witches like to keep personal pets,” Crowley explained softly. “Intelligent ones. Yours are enviable.”

“M' not a witch,” Dean protested.

“That doesn't mean you can't have familiars,” Crowley said. “Point of fact, they're going to help you keep your feet tomorrow.” He showed Dean that Sphinx and Ruto both had collars on. “I suppose you've noticed how close their friendship is?”

“Yeah,” Dean admitted.

“They're united in loving and protecting you, and not out of some ridiculous dynamic. No, they just love you. It's a lot purer than the dynamic we humans are tied to.” Crowley showed him that he had a little band around his wrist made of the same fabric his pet's collars sported. “You'll be draining off me, too. You should make it.”

“What if I hurt you guys, take more than what you can give?” Dean asked, worried.

“Can't happen. I fixed it so you'd get cut off at that point. I know you'd rather marry another day than kill any of us.” Crowley got a tray from beside him, and put it between them on the bed. “Try to eat. Ellen sent you up the requested oatmeal with some canned peaches.”

Dean got the tray across his legs and put the cover on a spare bit of bed. The oatmeal smelled good. He had a few bites of it, relishing how warm and comforting it was going down. A slice of slippery, sweet, cold peach complimented it well.

“Still wanting to stay in the boathouse?” Crowley asked.

“Yes. I don't care if Cas and I have to live off of bread and water for the duration. We need some privacy. I need him close to me without servants and other people banging around.” Dean got halfway through the bowl, stopping to rest and drink a chamomile infusion. “It's hard to get to know someone when there are so many distractions.”

“Yes, quite right.” Crowley smiled as Sphinx stood up to arch up into his petting strokes. “So sorry you won't get to have a carnal honeymoon. I have an idea, though.”

“What's that?” Dean put down the chamomile tea, starting on his oatmeal again. He didn't want to eat it cold.

“Have him read to you,” Crowley suggested. “He has a lovely voice, and a lot of books to choose from. Everything from history to love poetry. I have a stack ready, if you trust my choices.”

“Why not?” Dean remembered well how satisfying and intimate it had been to listen to Cas read The Prophet to him.

“That easy?” Crowley asked.

“He read to me once,” Dean admitted. “I liked it a lot.”

“Heh. Thought so.” Crowley pointed to the rest of Dean's peaches. “Eat those.”

“I'm working on it, damn it,” Dean muttered. “I have to go slowly.”

“You don't have a time limit, buttercup, I just want you to know I'm not leaving until all of the food is in your belly.” Crowley continued to pet Sphinx, not looking at Dean directly. “Your moose of a brother is very concerned about you, and I promised you'd eat.”

“You're concerned too, you slob,” Dean said, smiling. “I get it. And, thanks.”

“Hm.” Crowley scritched Spinx behind the ears. “I thought you were going to die, Dean. We all did. I wanted to force you into living, but Castiel wouldn't let me in here. I was about six hours from going behind his back and overpowering him, when you rallied.”

“He respected me enough to let me go if I wanted to,” Dean said. “That's a special kind of caring, Crowley. Caring about me enough to let me end my suffering.” Dean would never, ever forget that. It was the most sincere gesture of understanding and caring he'd ever been given.

Crowley shrugged, but Dean saw his words had an effect. The tailor's eyes moved with thought, dark, lively, and clever.

Silence stretched while Dean ate.

“I understand,” Crowley said at last. “I'm not that self-sacrificing, or even so generous. But, I can see what you mean. It's the opposite of selfishness.”

“Yeah.” Dean finally finished, and Crowley scooped up all the detritus.

Crowley left without saying anything else, but he didn't have to. Dean felt comfortable enough with what they'd said to one another.

 

* * *

 

Dean didn't even feel nervous. All morning he'd endured last minute panic from nearly everyone in the household, except for Ellen, who totally knew her business. All immediate members of the Novak family from the youngest to the eldest occupied the east wing common room, bouncing off each other with friction and snappy nerves. Samandriel fared the best; his new occupation apparently bestowed some odd kind of perspective, or calm, or whatever. Dean just felt glad he wasn't among the ones being irritable, anxious knot-heads.

Currently, dressed in his wedding kimono, with Crowley, John and Sam in attendance in the small secondary parlor, Dean instructed Crowley as to how to tie his obi properly. He had to brace on the wall to be be upright enough for this.

“No, under,” Dean said. “The over-wrap is the second.”

Crowley cussed a little as he corrected himself. “This thing is going to be half your garment,” he observed.

“Yeah, whole point,” Dean said, scruffing his fingers through Crowley's thinning hair, feeling affectionate. “It emphasizes the waistline. Man or woman, a slim waist is the thing.”

Crowley got the obi properly wound, and cinched it, tucking the end so it would point straight down. “Well, you nailed it,” he said grimly. “You've lost a lot of weight, sunshine.”

Dean hadn't been well enough to make the over-knot in the shape of a fan. He regretted that, truly. But, it was what it was. He used Crowley for a brace to sit back down, and got brisk cup of bitter coffee from the tray that sat on the side table. “I'll get better,” he said, having a good swallow. “I just need to get through this.”

“Dean,” John said, coming up to him with worried eyes. “You don't have to do this, you know. Bad as your brother hates me right now, he'd join up with me to spirit you out of here. We can hide you. You don't have to get bonded.”

Dean flicked his gaze to Sam, seeing the truth of John's statement in his brother's dark, intelligent eyes.

“I want to,” Dean said, and he said it _quick_. Better cut off that line of thought as fast as possible. “I want Cas, and I want his kids. So. There we are.” He drained his cup, and reached down to thread his fingers through Sphinx's head fur, which was nearly a mane in length and thickness. “Cas is good, Dad. He's good. I want him.”

John nodded, and sat on the floor below Dean's chair. “I get it, son, I do,” he assured. “You've got some kind of rapport going on. Only a moron could fail to see it, or smell it. I just... I wanted you to know you have other options.”

Dean took his hand away from his cat and ran his fingers through John's hair instead. “I know, Dad,” he said softly. “Thanks.”

Even as John relaxed into Dean's touch, Sam approached. He gave Dean a little wooden box. “I got this in Xia Pau,” he said. “It's specifically for celebrating the uniting of family.” He paused to give Dean a wry, helpless shrug, and smile. “Call it wishful thinking? I dunno.”

Dean thought Sam might break what was left of his heart. There his huge little brother was, admitting he'd still had enough hope after all these years, to buy something like that.

Dean opened the box, smiling. Inside was a hard and expensive cake of resinous incense meant to be burned on a hot coal. It smelled lovely, like sandalwood and neroli. Dean rubbed his thumb across the slick but pitted surface, kicking up the scent of the cake. “Thanks,” he said. “It's really good. I love the smell, Sammy.”

Sam grinned, and tilted his head in appreciation of Dean's sanction. He looked down at John, and hesitated but a moment before sitting down beside him. He didn't perch too close, but enough for Dean to know he was making an effort to let go of his ill will.

Dean's heart swelled and threatened to take flight.

The parlor door opened. Meg strode in with purpose. She came over to Dean, looking down at him in a measuring way. “You look pretty good for a guy that was nearly dead a few days ago,” she announced. “Officiator Carn will be ready for you in five minutes. He's already got Master Novak signing papers. After that it's a matter of you coming in, standing up while he does his whole 'blah-blah, live-ever-after, blah-blah.”

Sam bent his head and choked on a snort of laughter.

“Thanks,” Dean said. If you squinted, Meg could be fucking hilarious. She'd perfected deadpan irreverence born from ill-disguised, genuine concern.

Meg nodded and left, the tails of her coat flaring.

Dean spent those allotted minutes petting Spinx and Ruto, and, periodically, his dad's head. He leaned down just before his time might be up, and rested his cheek in John's hair. “Dad,” he said, so quietly no one else could hear no matter how close. “I know you won't believe me, but I do forgive you. And, I want you to hold me up as I walk to get bonded.” He waited a moment to let his words sink in. “I _need_ you, Dad,” he stressed. “Let go of all the crap. Lead me to my husband.”

John shuddered mightily. He grabbed Dean's closest hand. He held it, squeezed, and let go. “Whatever you want from me, son,” he promised.

And so, Dean was led to Cas by his father. As he unsteadily trod the short distance with his pets, Crowley and Sam close behind, he prayed to his husband's god that he might stay upright long enough to get through the ceremony. The red Bible had explained prayer just by the index.

Dean did not want to endanger his pets, or his best friend. He didn't want to risk that at all.

And, Dean prayed to the Novak's angel. Surely, Michael would help him. He looked over Cas' family.

 _Michael_ , he said in his mind. _Cas' family loves and adores you for subduing the Evil One. I don't know you. It would be nice, probably, if I did. And, I'm not denying you._ He stepped through the threshold, seeing all the people he knew either lined up to witness, or standing back to serve, and it struck a chord in him.

 _It would be good_ , Dean decided. _It would be awesome to have faith in something other than me, or in Cas. Not that I don't appreciate my new family or him, just..._

Castiel believed in Michael, and Cas was wise. Cas was _honest_. Cas wouldn't tell him lies, or lead him down a false road. Naomi and Zachariah wouldn't do that, either.

Dean had to stop and lean heavily on John for a moment to get a bit of strength. He wasn't up for this, bad as he wanted to get it done and over.

He heard people whispering in concern.

Dean forced himself to stand tall.

 _Michael, you apparently have a lot on your plate, but..._ Dean took a bad step, and would have fallen on his face if his father hadn't caught him and pulled him upright. And, John did it very, very slickly. No one not utterly paying attention would have seen the maneuver. _If you could just see me through this_ , Dean said in his head. _If you could only help me have the strength to make it_.

Dean was led to the front of the room, and put next to Cas. John didn't let go until the officiator told him to leave. He dragged his hand through Dean's hair once, and retreated.

 _Archangel Michael_ , Dean said inside as a cold sweat broke out upon his forehead. _Michael, I need you. Help me get through this wedding ceremony to Castiel. Please. Please, Michael._

“We gather here today to see this alpha join to this omega,” the officiator said blandly.

Dean's legs turned into rubber. He fought to stay vertical.

 _Michael, you fucking angel of the Lord, you will do your duty_ , Dean swore. _The whole Novak clan worships you. If you crap out on them right now, you're a disgrace. I need you, and you better show up!_

“Do you, Castiel Novak, take this omega, Dean Winchester, to be the father of your children? Do you swear to keep him and hold him, to be his strength and protection?”

“I do,” Castiel said.

Dean swayed in place, dangerously close to passing out. _Michael, you son of a bitch,_ he said _. You get down here and you help me up._

“Do you, Castiel Novak, swear to nurture this omega to the best of your ability, and to hold his safety above everything else within your power?”

“I do,” Cas said.

Dean felt like he might be sweating blood. He could smell it.

“Do you, Castiel Novak, take an oath to ensure that the children this omega bears to you are safe, and furthered to the best of your ability?”

Even as this question ended, Dean felt strength flooding into him. It felt like cold, clean water combining with the solid hardness of a bracing rock. He gasped aloud, feeling himself being born up and braced by a force that had no face.

“I do,” Cas swore.

Dean leaned into the unseen, unknown power. _Michael... Thank you_.

“Do you, Castiel Novak, vow to stay true to your omega, and give your seed only to him?”

“I do,” Cas said, reaching the slight distance to pull Dean close. A subtle attempt to bolster Dean, making it all look romantic while simply trying to get Dean through the ceremony.

Cas was awesome.

Dean let Michael's strength hold him up, too.

“So it shall be.” The officiator's bored brown eyes turned to Dean, then. “Omega, Dean Winchester, you have been found to be pure of body.”

“Yes,” Dean managed to say. Gratitude to Michael filled him completely. He would have already collapsed without the Novak family's angel. He'd wanted to get through this and start his new life officially, and Michael was helping him achieve that.

“As such, you are entitled to this alpha, Castiel Novak. Do you swear to abide by the rules he sets for your conduct and comportment?”

“Yes,” Dean answered. He didn't take that question lightly, but Cas wouldn't demand anything of him he couldn't handle.

“Do you take an oath to not bear children from any other alpha unless your own sets you aside, or dies before you bear?”

“Yes,” Dean answered again. If something happened to Cas, he'd go feral, just like he'd claimed he would. No stinky alpha was going to knot him if it wasn't Cas.

Dean felt a pulse of amusement go through him, amusement not of his own making.

 _You're probably an alpha, too,_ Dean said to Michael. _Just my luck_.

More amusement. Warm and kind.

“Do you vow to raise your alpha's children to the very best of your ability, ignoring all other responsibilities in order to bring them an ideal life, as stipulated by him?” The officiator's bored brown eyes were actually drifting as he spoke.

“No,” Dean said, causing everyone to either look dead at him, or to gasp. “I promise to raise _our_ children to the best of _my_ ability,” he corrected. “Between me and Cas, I have the most experience with children, so he's going to have to wing it on my say-so until he gets the hang of the job,” he added.

Naomi tittered.

Sam coughed through a laugh.

The officiator turned his gaze to Castiel, no longer bored. “Sir?”

“Dean gave you his answer, and you will accept it,” Castiel said mildly.

The man bit his lip. “But, the vows are very specific,” he protested meekly.

“I signed papers to own a human being twenty minutes ago, is that not enough?” Cas asked, now sounding very, very cold. His scent was shot through with distaste and hot impatience. “The bonding vows are for the bonded, not the law, or the family of the bonded. Is that not true?”

“Y-yes, sir,” the man agreed.

“Then, _get on with it_. Dean is quite unable to stand here forever while you vacillate on the preponderance of bonding ethics.” Cas flipped his hand at him.

Again, Dean felt Michael's amusement.

The officiator cleared his throat and faced Dean again. “Do you, omega, Dean Winchester, vow to be as much of a benefit to your alpha's household as you can manage?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Dean said. “We all know I'm an omega, and Cas is an alpha. I see you sniffing me. You'd better hope Cas doesn't take umbrage.”

“He's _**what**_?” Castiel asked lowly, the displeasure and indignation shooting out of his pores.

Michael's laugh was audible in Dean's head.

“I now pronounce you bonded,” the man said. He took three steps back and grabbed his coat. “Congratulations.” He was out the door and running down the hall at a good clip that next instant.

Naomi burst into laughter. “Most entertaining bonding ceremony I've ever seen,” she teased.

 _Do you still need me, Child of Adam?_ Dean heard Michael ask. His voice wasn't a voice, but an impression of power that took the form of words.

 _He can carry me from here,_ Dean said. _Thanks, Michael. I couldn't have made it without you_.

 _I apologize for being so late. It's been a long time since I heard a human pray to me with consummate faith. I'm glad I came. You are very special, Dean Winchester_.

 _I'm really not_ , Dean said. _You go subdue that Evil One for me_.

_Of course, Child._

Dean sagged as Michael left him. Cas and John united to hold Dean upright.

“Mother, Father, we'd stay for the celebrating, but Dean isn't able,” Cas said. “If a dire situation comes up, we'll be in the boathouse.”

“Go, Castiel,” Naomi said. “You and Dean enjoy the privacy.”

As Cas carried Dean out, Dean caught a look from Crowley. It was pure bafflement.

Cas snagged a blanket that waited for them in the kitchen, and put it completely over Dean. Out into the cold, blowing snow they went. It seemed to take a long time to get to the boathouse, but Dean felt pretty warm and secure under that blanket. Cas was warm, too, and so solid and reassuring.

Once inside, the blanket gently dragged off, Dean was greeted by a high, warm fire and Castiel's bed.

Dean saw the indoor toilet had been moved to here, Cas' privacy screen making it separate from the rest of the room. A sea chest sat in the far corner, under the barred window. Hanging in the fireplace was a pot of bubbling stew that smelled of venison and butter. The table had been pushed to the other side of the bed. There wasn't much room, but that was fine. Dean would have things to hold onto while getting around.

 _Thanks again, Michael_ , Dean prayed.

Cas put Dean on the bed, and stood back to look at him. “I don't know how to feel,” he confessed, sounding lost.

Dean got his arms behind his waist, and undid the obi knot. He carefully worked the ornate sash free, and presented it to Castiel. “You feel relieved the whole mess is over,” he said. “You feel good that you gave me a decent home, surrounded by decent people. And, you feel special, because Dean Winchester would never have handed himself over to anyone else.”

Cas, his eyes watering, took the obi. “Of course,” he said. He looked at the thing and tilted his head. “This is beautiful. This is your token to me? Where did you get it?”

“I made it,” Dean said. “The magpie is for celebrating, for family unity and happy times. That's what I wanted to bring to you.”

Cas lowered his head over the obi. A long minute passed. He pressed it to his face and breathed in and out several times. Finally, he straightened up to look at Dean. “I'm honored,” he said. “What should I do with this to show my gratitude?”

“You already _have_ shown your gratitude,” Dean told him. “Traditionally, it's framed, and hung over the front door of your home, on the inside, never letting the ends trail downward. For now you can roll it up and put it away somewhere. It can't be hung until we basically have marriage sex on it. Or, with it. Or, whatever.” Dean smiled. “I've heard of some inventive uses of the wedding obi.”

Cas gave him a pained little smile. “Oh dear,” he murmured. He carefully put the obi on the bed, and began rolling it into a tube. “How long did this take you, Dean?”

“Not too long. I'm good.” Dean allowed his body to flop backward. He stared at the ceiling, noticing a far away, single spider in an intricate web. That was an auspicious omen. He felt better immediately, knowing this place hadn't had it's personality boiled away with rigorous cleaning. He paid a moment's thought to Cas having taken the key to the boathouse from him at some unknown point.

Cas put the obi on the fireplace mantlepiece, and stared at it. “All I have for you is a wedding band,” he said. “Certainly nothing this beautiful, this personal.”

“That's for me to decide, not you.” Dean held his arm in the air, and wriggled his fingers. “Gimme.”

That got a laugh. Dean felt a cool, wide piece of metal sliding over his ring finger. He drew his hand in to have a look. The thing was gorgeous, a bright, silvery metal studded all the way around with sparkling stones, alternating between white and red. One of the red stones was very large.

“Diamonds and rubies on a platinum band,” Cas said. “Diamonds because of their sparkle, rubies because human life vibrates to the color red.”

“It's beautiful,” Dean said sincerely.

“I should have gotten emeralds, but I couldn't find any the color of your eyes,” Cas said quietly.

“Stupid emeralds,” Dean commented, and got another laugh from Cas.

“Yes, very stupid,” Cas agreed. He went to the sea chest and opened it up. “Ellen packed this. We should have plenty to eat and drink today and tomorrow.” He began rummaging as he spoke, and Dean took the opportunity of Cas being bent over to admire his ass. “At sunset we'll have another chest delivered, and the old one taken awa...” Cas halted, and Dean watched him stand with an enormous, false penis in his hands.

Dean burst into weak and hysterical laughter.

“What on _earth_?” Cas asked, eyes glued to the thing that was pretty much as well endowed as him.

“Crowley,” Dean gasped out. “It's a long story,” he said. “I'll have to tell you tomorrow.”

Cas dropped the falsey back into the chest with a sort of finality, then immediately reached back in for it. “No, I couldn't risk having it sent back to the house,” he muttered. He put the thing on the mantle, and grimaced. “There's probably nowhere I can put it that I'm not staring, is there?”

“Shove it between the mattress and the bed spring,” Dean suggested. “I'm not a princess. It won't bother me to have it under there.”

“Of course you're not a princess,” Cas muttered. “What are you alluding to?” He lifted the corner of the bed clothes and pushed the phallus under the mattress until it vanished.

“It's an old tale my mom told me to illustrate how stupid gender roles are,” Dean explained. “A prince wanted to marry a 'real' princess. He traveled all over trying to find one, but was always disappointed. One night, a princess knocked on the castle doors, soaking wet from a terrible storm.”

“Divine providence?” Cas asked.

“Don't know.” Dean shrugged. “The prince's mother decided to test if she was a real princess by putting a pea in the center of a bed frame. She had twenty mattresses and twenty beds stacked on top of it, and gave the so-called princess that room to sleep in for the night.”

Cas frowned. “If I were given such a grotesque sleeping arrangement, I'd worry about the mental health of my hosts,” he said. “One shouldn't need a grappling hook and rope to get into bed.”

Dean grinned. “So, the princess goes to bed. The next morning, the queen asks her how she slept, and the princess tells her she barely slept at all for something poking her in the back all night, making her black and blue.”

“Fragile woman,” Cas mused.

Dean shook his head. “It's about not taking appearances as fact,” he said. “The queen thought a real princess would have attendants and shelter, not show up all bedraggled and soaked. See, the story shows that what you look like isn't a basis to judge. Also, that little things matter.” He paused. “That thing you put under the bed isn't exactly little, but I'm not gonna feel it.”

Cas went to stir the stew. “So, look on the inside and not the outside. Is it really that hard? I don't think so.”

“You're not that shallow,” Dean commented. “Is that ready to eat? I'd like some.”

Cas dipped Dean a bowl full of the stew and carried it to him with a spoon. He got one for himself, and they sat on the bed to eat instead of at the table.

The stew tasted good. Dean ate with sloth due to his sickness, and, merely enjoying something hot and rich going into him. Cas hadn't offered to feed him, and Dean hadn't thought of it until the bowl was half gone. He looked down into the glimmering brown liquid, at all the tiny spots of melted butter, pondering the way a good meal usually had a decent amount of fat in it.

He knew from listening to people talking about history that many people used to be fat, from not eating decent food, or from eating too much of it. Dean only had seen fat people in town, invariably alphas that could afford to eat whenever they wanted.

So much poverty and hunger in the world.

Dean finished long after Cas. Cas took his bowl. He put the dirty things into a small linen sack and carefully placed it into the chest. Then, he took out a bottle of the estate wine and looked at it. “Perhaps you can tell me now why my mother forbade me to let you drink out of a bottle or jar?” He asked, getting the corkscrew.

“It's symbolic of drinking from a woman,” Dean explained. “Being intended for you, that wasn't polite.”

“I see.” Cas slightly shook his head. He worked the cork free and poured one glass, carrying it back. “How is a glass, a mug, a tea cup or wineglass, not symbolic of drinking from a woman?”

“A bottle or a jar can be corked and contained,” Dean said. “Like a woman heavy with child. Women are the basic childbearing sex. Omega men are considered abominations, Cas.”

“You are not an abomination,” Cas said.

“No, I'm not,” Dean agreed easily. “And, neither are you.”

Cas wouldn't look at Dean for a few minutes. His face twitched and morphed with deep thought, eyebrows and lips uniting to go back and forth between impartial consideration, and self-bias. Finally, he took a sip of wine, and bent to offer it to Dean.

Dean drank. He loved the soft press of Cas' mouth, the way the wine tasted of Cas.

It took them twenty minutes to savor and drink. Cas put the bottle near the door where it would stay cool, and rinsed the wineglass out, setting it on the mantle.

“Dean...” Cas licked his lips. “I hope you never change your mind about me.”

Dean worked the bed covers down and managed to get under them without an exhibition of clumsy fatigue. “You'd have to literally turn into a monster right in front of me for that,” Dean told him. “Unless you're hiding fangs and claws from me, Cas, you're fine.”

“I'm not a vampire,” Cas said, smiling slightly.

“Don't tell me. Those exist, too.”

“Of course.” Cas sat down, and toed off his boots. “You need some sleep, apparently.”

“At least a few hours.” Dean closed his eyes. “You know, it's nice, knowing we're by ourselves and can talk without a chance of being overheard. Sleep in privacy. Listen to the fire, not house noises.”

“You like the house noises,” Cas protested, standing to get his trousers off.

“I do. But, for awhile, all I want to hear is the sound of wood getting eaten by fire, and the way you snore if you flop over onto your back.”

“I do not snore,” Cas said.

“You totally do,” Dean informed.

 


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rotten fruit ready? More emotional rollercoaster.

Dean awakened gradually, easily, his body relaxed upon Cas' warm strength. Slowly, he brought his arm in from across Cas' chest. All that smooth hardness felt good. He spread his fingers out at the last, gliding over Cas' defined pectorals.

Hot damn, his husband was well made. Fucking perfect.

Cas stirred. A short, heartfelt groan left his soft, well shaped mouth. He curled his body to one side, inward, and pushed his face into the junction between Dean's neck and shoulder.

Dean felt an odd little shimmer of almost-wind, a kicking up of heat, and a vibration of strength and shelter. It blanketed him. He thought he felt a soft, silken glide over his body. It was heavy and light at the same time. He stopped the retreat of his arm and brought it back, winding it around Castiel's waist.

“Dean,” Cas said, heartfelt and slow and honest. “You glow again.” He grabbed Dean, and hugged him close. “Thank the Father,” he added. “Your strength is coming back.” He nuzzled Dean, and squeezed with both arms. “This is how you should be, Dean,” he said.

“Why?” Dean rolled until he was on top of Cas.

“Because,” Cas said simply, giving him a smile.

Dean thought he could accept that. He looked down on Cas, and realized he had full permission from any court to simply stop and look his fill. So, he did. He paid attention to the slight scruff of morning beard, and those plush, soft lips that were so well shaped. He took in those cheekbones, the perfection of Cas' nose, and how that straight bridge sculpted in at the top. Eyes and eyebrows went together on most people, united in expression, but on Cas that was perfection. Grace and beauty.

Those eyes stared up at him, dazzling blue and full of gentle, complete adoration. But, not the covetous kind. Worship. Seeing something in Dean that Dean himself had no idea was there.

This guy was incredible.

Dean's weakened arms protested his position. He lowered himself, and settled so that the center of his body rested upon Castiel's left side. He let his right hand wander at will, and it enjoyed the freedom. Dean felt smooth skin, hard muscles that bulged, the ridges between those muscles. He felt tiny, tiny hairs, and the dips caused by muscle groups and padding deposits.

All the while his hand explored, his nose did, too. He scented Castiel's contentment, his patience, even the dampening down of sexual stirring.

Dean wondered if he would ever have romantic love from Cas that would match the respectful, idealistic, compassionate kind of love that they had already. Sex was great, and yeah, they apparently had ideally matched bodies, and Dean had no trouble finding shelter in Cas. Too, he felt treasured. But, he didn't feel like Cas was in love with him. It was a matter of deep respect, physical appreciation, and kindness, only.

Oh, shit. That was what he'd been missing. What he wanted. How could he have gone this long in his life without knowing that? It was outside of belief. True mates weren't real. He'd been telling himself that since old enough to understand anything. But, the fact remained, he wanted someone to _love_ him. To be so caught up in him that his loss would prove significant.

Cas' kindness, his consideration, his appreciation, were amazing. But, they didn't add up to love. Not the love of fairy tales, and not the love of novels.

Dean's vision tunneled. He sucked a deep breath and held it, full of terror. He had to-.

“Dean?” Cas rolled to face him. “Dean?!”

No, he could do this. This was enough. He had everything but that ideal. He could function. He _could_.

“Dean, what's wrong?” Cas asked, looming over him, his face pulled into stark worry.

He'd never have love, though. The kind of love in which flowers were exchanged, notes of endearment left, sacrifices made and accepted.

Could he really live the rest of his life with every need met, but this one?

“Dean, you're _scaring_ me,” Cas said, his voice shaking.

Dean made himself think of nothing, absolutely nothing. It was the only way to stop the spiraling descent. He grabbed Cas' shoulder and clenched down, gritting his teeth. Frozen like that, he stared past Cas' face to the ceiling. There was the little spider in his web, looking down on him.

Spiders made great things, and fed themselves, without love.

Maybe if Dean could learn to love himself, Cas could fall in love with him.

“I can't see your light anymore, Dean,” Cas said.

Dean thought of Naomi. She'd lost the love of her life, and still found it possible to love Zachariah, to bear his children. Dean lifted his hand to look at Cassandra's ring. Simple, beautiful, it sparkled in the fire light and the small beam that filtered in from the shuttered window.

That made Dean look at the one Cas had given him. He'd wanted emeralds to match Dean's eyes, but no emerald compared, so he'd given rubies, red for life.

He should have more faith in Cas. The fact he'd even looked for emeralds to match Dean's eyes meant he had a grasp of romantic feelings. It was possible Cas could learn to love him in a deeper way, a personal way. Only time would tell.

Cas gave a small gasp. “Dean, whatever you're thinking, keep thinking it,” he said.

Dean curled up against Cas' body, considering what it would be like to have Cas' love. To be protected and cared for because he was special. Because they had a covenant together. He stroked his thumb across Cas' skin, his bicep, feeling the sleeping strength.

Maybe he'd have to be the one to initiate the romance. Maybe, this would teach Cas husbandly love. Dean thought it could be fun to seduce the man with the best of intentions. Hopefully, also rewarding.

“Charlie said, and it seems like it was forever ago, that you were an artist before taking over Tor-Valen,” Dean said, feeling Cas give a little shake. “Yes, she gossiped. No, I don't regret listening, because I don't know much about you, Cas. And, I do want to know more.”

Cas exhaled. “Dean...”

“I know you're intelligent,” Dean went on. “Business smart, too. Strong. Loyal to your friends and family.” He stroked his hand down Cas' arm all the way to the wrist, then held his hand and looked at those amazing, beautiful fingers. They were hard and rough from outdoor work. “I know you have a sense of humor, and that you're fair-minded. I know you're brave.”

“Not so very brave, Dean,” Cas whispered.

Dean turned Cas' hand to expose his palm, and touched his lips to the center, feeling Cas quiver. These hands fed him. Even if not physically. Because, Cas worked for his riches, for the people on his property, kept them warm and clothed and able to eat any time they needed.

“Such a capable person you are, Cas,” Dean said quietly. “Everyone likes to play up alpha qualities like strength, and aggression, and dominance. They forget an alpha is supposed to be like that for blazing new trails.”

“Dean, I don't-.”

“New trails make it easier for the people that are following, Cas,” Dean interrupted. “Some people aren't able to clear new ground.” He pressed Cas' hand to his cheek, and leaned into it. Cas obligingly, gently, spread his fingers, and supported Dean's head.

“Dean? Please tell me what's going on in your head right now,” Cas asked softly. “Your light all but died right in front of me, then rallied to outshine a burning star.”

“What can I say?” Dean nestled in closer to Cas. “You tend to bring me out of Hell, Cas. Over and over again.”

Dean fell into an exhausted sleep.

(________________________________________________________________)

 

The next time Dean awakened, he was alone. He was hungry, and needed to pee. He carefully got up and tended to business, then searched the chest for a clean outfit to wear. No sooner had he got the trousers on, Cas came in the door.

For a moment, all was silence, and Dean could feel Cas' eyes on his back, on his scars, on the brand. Dean turned only his head, and looked at Cas over his shoulder. “Remember what I said about this thing?” He asked.

“Yes,” Cas whispered. He had a dead hare in one hand. It was dangling a little sickeningly from having its neck broken. “I still don't see it in a positive light, Dean. I'm sorry.”

Dean turned back around and nodded. He put on a shirt. When he returned to the bed and sat down, Cas started cleaning up the rabbit on the nearby table. Guts and brains, head and feet went on the fire. The pelt got taken outside, and Dean saw Cas packing it in fresh snow. He washed his hands of blood there, and came back.

“Bunny stew?” Dean asked. There was a strange tension between them right now. “I didn't think cooking was high on your list of accomplishments.”

“It isn't,” Cas admitted. “But, we have flour and spices, and a frying pan. I believe I can accomplish a simple meal.”

Dean lay back and stared at his spider, listening to Cas build up and arrange the fire, to him going through the motions of cooking. The smell of the meat made Dean's stomach grumble. He got up and found a bottle of wine, opened it and poured a glass. Not waiting for Cas to offer, Dean sat down at the table and drank slowly.

“Do you want to talk about it, Dean?” Cas asked. “Did I offend you in some way?”

“You always think it's you, Cas, when you know I'm as turned around as a drunk in cave.” Dean poured again, and slid the glass over so Cas could reach it. “No, it isn't you at all. It's me. And, I'm thinking about it.”

Cas put a plate of breaded rabbit strips onto a plate, and sat beside of Dean. He had a sip of wine before tiredly rubbing his eyes. “Dean... When you woke up, you seemed content. You... You were touching me.” Cas looked at the table top, and blinked a few times. “I know that you like to touch. I do. You welcome hugs. But, it was while you were touching me that you suddenly just...” Cas swallowed. “You dropped away. It was like seeing you fall into a black hole.”

Dean could feel the black hole looming close just having it mentioned. He put his head on the table and covered it with his arms. Cas would keep on with this until he got the truth, or something near enough to deduce the problem, Dean knew. But, no way would he tell this amazing man what his deal was. He might never win the love he wanted if Cas knew. The knowledge would taint every bit of their interactions, worse than the lack of it right now.

“You know that secret you have?” Dean asked at last, sitting up and looking at Cas' stricken face. “This one? What you felt from me? That one's mine.” He shook his head. “I know you can smell that I'm upset, probably in layers. I don't know. You have an alpha nose, after all. Just trust me like I'm trusting you, Cas. It's not a danger to you, what I won't talk about.”

Cas looked down at the plate and began fretfully pulling the strips into bite size pieces. “I believe this is what's known as being hoist on one's own petard,” he grumbled. “I want to help, to know the problem, but I can't insist because I'm keeping something from you already.”

Dean smiled, and if it was a touch bitter, Cas didn't comment. “What _is_ a petard, anyway?” He asked.

“A grenade,” Cas said.

“What's that?” Dean riposted.

“A percussion weapon. An object packed with highly volatile compounds designed to blow apart and do damage to the enemy.” Cas hesitantly offered a piece of rabbit to Dean.

Dean accepted.

Oh, mmmm.

“Tastes good,” Dean praised.

Cas rolled his eyes a little, which made Dean want to smile. “I thought I should actually be responsible for one meal on our ill-fated honeymoon,” he grumped. “So far we aren't doing very well. You're ill, and I'm feeling entirely inadequate to filling your needs. It's very humbling.”

Dean had another bite. He chewed and swallowed. “You're not really used to feeling like you can't make the grade. Which means your life has been filled with excellence so far, mostly. Why the self-doubt?”

“Because, I'm constantly _hurting_ you, Dean,” Cas said, pained, his eyes going a bit wet. “I don't mean to, but I do.

“First, I failed to take into account anything about who and what you are, and I left you on the kitchen floor for so long you nearly _died_ , kneeling in your own bodily fluids. Even in trying to correct what I'd done, I hurt you. The _sound_ you made when I tried to pick you up-!” Cas put his hands in his hair and pulled, hard, his gaze now wild. “I hear it in my nightmares, Dean!

“I see Bright-Soul all crumpled up, in agony, his arms and legs locked with his suffering,” Cas now ranted, standing up and grabbing the fireplace mantle. “Blood coming out of his mouth because he's bitten his tongue while seizing and screaming in pain!

“I slink off with a lie, because I have to, because nobody can know, not even Bright-Soul,” Cas went on, completely unaware of Dean, now. “And, he languishes, wilts from my absence, yet he keeps carrying on, working faithfully in my home. He feeds my people, cleans me up, and only barely does he ask for an answer as to where I've been, and even then only with his _eyes_ , never his lovely mouth! Because, Bright-Soul has been taught his whole life to be a _slave_ , and I can't correct it, because if I do, I _hurt_ him!”

Cas gripped the mantle so hard Dean heard his fingers mashing into the wood. It was a frightful noise. Dean watched, fascinated and even horrified, as water seeped from the dried, hardened wood, released from the strain of alpha finger tips. Those hands that had never harmed him, had given him food and drink and tender touches, were weapons.

“And, _again_ , Bright-Soul forgives,” Cas gasped out. “Because, he is good and human in a way I'll never be. I gain hope, and I think perhaps I can keep from hurting him anymore.

“But, he wants _children_ , and I...” Cas reeled in place, his eyes shutting. “If I give Bright-Soul the knot his omega body wants, I might... No, I would. I'm fertile, too fertile. He'd be with child the moment I released into him.” He shook his head violently, almost falling. “My child would _kill_ him. He's not strong enough. He could never be strong enough! I'm a _monster_!”

Cas fled, slamming the door so hard it popped the latch and was left gaping open.

Dean sat there, his head swimming. Numbness settled for a few minutes, then the cabin began to feel cold. He got up and shut the door. Because he was hungry, he ate the rabbit strips.

They were a fucked up pair, weren't they? If Dean had the energy to be upset, to worry, he would. But, he had to take care of himself in order to do anything about changing Cas' mind, or, alleviating his guilt.

Sorrowing and alone, Dean went to bed.

(________________________________________________________________)

Dean dreamed.

He liked this dream. He'd had it often as a new student at Sonny's. In it, he walked in fields and fields of nothing but wildflowers, aiming for a tower in the distance. The sun was warm, and birds followed him, their songs so beautiful and varied. His favorite, the mockingbird, circled overhead, learning new songs from other birds that cared nothing for him or his love of music.

He felt a presence beside him. It was Cas. He had his head down, and looked as if he might leave the moment Dean admitted to seeing him.

“You could probably tell me what all these flowers are,” Dean said, peripherally watching Cas stiffen and falter a bit. “I mean, you're all into nature, and what will feed your bees,” Dean went on. “Are any of these lavender? That's what your favorite bees use, right? You told me so the day I met you.”

Cas gave him a quick, nervous look, and stopped. He knelt to pluck a small, purple-headed flower with a cone like formation. “This is lavender,” he said, almost shy in how he handed it over.

Dean smelled it. Unlike most people, he had full use of his senses in his dreams. So, his brains supplied a scent for him. Because he only knew lavender in association with Cas' honey, that was what it smelled like, but he didn't care. He tucked it behind his ear, and grinned over at Cas.

Cas didn't smile. He still looked as if he'd go.

Dean kept walking with Cas by his side. “I never have actually reached the tower before I wake up,” he informed. “I know that it's not going to be a bad place, but the journey is distracting. I mean, look at all this.” He waved a hand. “Usually, I end up sitting down, then, lying down. And, I watch the clouds.” He paused. “I do that a lot in my dreams. Watch clouds. I wonder why?”

“Freedom,” Cas said quietly.

“You think?” Dean made a quick step closer to Cas, and threw his arm over the man's shoulders. “What about the wildflowers?”

“The desire for simplicity,” Cas said, now extra nervous but also looking as if he wanted to enjoy the contact. For the excuse to enjoy it, rather.

“And, the tower?” Dean asked.

“Achieving your sexual needs proudly, and the determination to be strong,” Cas told him. “This is a beautiful dream, Dean. Even the birds tell a story. The number of them represent your spirit force, and the mockingbird signifies cleverness and industry.”

“Dude, there's less than a hundred birds,” Dean said, laughing. “Some spirit force.”

Cas licked his lips, shook his head. “Dean, most people never dream of birds at all, and if they do, it's one at a time. You have scores of birds here. Look behind you.”

Dean looked. Behind him, flying silently, were thousands upon thousands of birds. They blotted out the sky, flying steadily and silently, following them. “Wow. I take it back. I'm awesome.”

“You are,” Cas said solemnly.

Dean dropped his arm, thinking Cas looked twitchy. “Why are you nervous, Dream Cas?”

“I shouldn't be here,” Cas answered.

“You're here because I want you here,” Dean countered.

 

“No, Dean,” Cas said. “I'm here because _**I**_ want to be here. I'm curious. Your dreams are always so beautiful. Full of peace and nature.”

“I'm not dependably peaceful,” Dean said. “You're here because I need to talk to you, and cut out some of this stuff we do. You know what I mean.” Dean grabbed him by the elbow, making him stop. “In my dreams, you aren't stronger than me. You aren't an alpha, and I'm not an omega. We're equals.”

Dream Cas had a habit of burying his face in his hands, Dean noticed. What did that mean?

“Dean... You're _better_ than me,” Cas protested. And, he meant it. Dean could see that. Hear it.

“You really believe that, don't you?” Dean asked. “If I ask you why you think you're so rotten, it's gonna come down to your big secret, isn't it?”

Cas winced. “Partly,” he admitted.

Dean sat down in the wildflowers, but Cas only stood above him. Waiting. Hesitating as if he might decide to flee after all.

“Go or stay,” Dean said. “Even if you're just a dream, I don't want to upset you. You deserve better.”

Dean finished his dream alone.

\--

Dean spent one entire day and night of his honeymoon, alone. He worried about Cas, but refused to leave the cabin. It wasn't safe, first of all. Secondly, Cas was having some epic freak-out anyway, and best not to push him. Even in his dream, Cas had been a mess. Third, Dean just didn't have the strength to search for Cas.

When Charlie came out with fourteen other people to check on them, Dean practically flipped. He'd forgotten Cas' edict on not traveling in less than a pack of fifteen. He answered the door while using it as a shield so no one could see inside.

“We came to see if you needed anything,” Charlie said cheerfully before winking.

“Shh,” Dean said. And then, took a gamble no one had spied his husband roaming around somewhere. “Cas is asleep.”

“Oops!' Charlie blushed. “Well, we brought your new chest full of food and supplies.”

“Leave it right there,” Dean told her. “I'll have him drag it in when he wakes up.”

“Fine, fine,” Charlie said, and they all made their way back to the manor.

Dean waited until they were all gone, then, with maximum effort, dragged the old chest outside, and switched with the new. He was hungry, so he had a look. Ellen had wrapped a fresh ham rump roast, and it was still warm. Dean cut a few slices of it, poured some wine, and settled to eat.

It seemed to take a very long time, eating.

Dean melted snow in a very large wash tub, got the resultant water at a fairly high level and hot. He had no soap, but he didn't care. He washed himself as well as able, then bailed the tub and built up the fire.

The sun was going down, and still no sign of Cas.

Worried, Dean got dressed again. _Michael_ , he prayed. _I know you're a busy guy, but could you listen to me a minute?_

Not even a hesitation, and Michael's presence filled Dean's mind. _What is it, Child?_

 _You helped me get married, and I'm grateful,_ Dean said. _Cas is a great guy._

 _Your husband is safe, Child,_ Michael said. _He's trying to work up the nerve to face you. He fears he harms you. He prays to me, too_.

 _Oh._ Dean sagged in relief. _You talk to him, then?_

 _He doesn't expect me to personally answer him,_ Michael replied. _His faith is strong, but he was taught not to expect personal attention. It is enough for him merely to unburden his heart_.

 _You're saying my ignorance about you got me special treatment?_ Dean asked.

_In a way. You prayed to me as a child prays, using the faith of your teachers. You trust what your husband and his family tell you, and you had no doubt I would eventually show myself. Castiel prays as a penitent, assuming things that aren't written in stone. In his mind, faith is something you nurture while knowing you will never be worthy of any personal attention._

Dean felt a stab of pain at hearing this. _He thinks he's a monster_.

 _Many would believe him so. But, I do not_ , Michael said. _And, as I am the figurehead of his entire bloodline, worshiped, I think he deserves a little attention. Still. I cannot manifest to him until he thinks he merits it_.

 _I understand_ , Dean said. _Sorry for taking up so much of your time_.

 _You are worth it, Child_ , Michael said, his presence warm inside of Dean. _I shall give your husband a sign to return to you, a symbol of hope that he will not fail to understand. Stay strong_.

 _Thank you_ , Dean said. _Say 'hello' to God for me. Oh, and kick the Evil One in the face for me, too_.

Michael chuckled. _You're welcome. And, I will. To both_.

Dean rested on the bed as he felt Michael leaving him. Eventually, he pushed the covers down and inserted himself in all that heavy warmth. He shut his eyes, and fell asleep.

(________________________________________________________________)

Dean felt Castiel getting into bed. He hadn't heard the cabin door open, though.

Cas felt strong, solid, and warm. Dean instantly pressed himself to that body. He made no comment about Cas being absent, or of missing him, just welcomed him back with physical appreciation.

Cas' muscles unlocked. He sighed as Dean stroked his shoulder. “I really don't deserve you.”

“You'll cope,” Dean promised, smiling.

“Will I?” Cas ran a hand through his hair. “Have you been eating, Dean?”

“Some,” Dean said. “You have to remember I'm accustomed to less, not more.”

“What a polite way to let me off the hook for not feeding you during our fucking honeymoon,” Cas said. “Could I _be_ any worse at this?”

Dean pondered that. Of course Cas could be worse at this, but the man wasn't receptive to any type of praise right now. Seldom was, actually. “You know what?” He asked.

“What?” Cas sighed.

“Let's go back to the house in the morning,” Dean suggested. “We aren't fooling anyone. They all know we can't be getting it on, and our intimacy level has taken a hit anyway. We can have the proper honeymoon when it's right to have it, and forget about forcing this. I'd feel better. Wouldn't you?”

Cas was quiet a moment.

“Yes,” Cas said. “We can only benefit from going back. You'll be safer, with other people around that don't totally bungle interaction.”

“You are so hard on yourself.”

“No one else is capable of disciplining me,” Cas shot back. “In case you haven't noticed, I'm an alpha among alphas. I have to be hard on myself, because I'm not able to be schooled otherwise.”

“Seems to me you do a great job of controlling yourself,” Dean riposted, a curl of irritation smoking at the base of his spine. “Too good, Cas. I don't know of any other alpha that can contain the blood fury like you. Please, just for me, if I mean anything to you at all, stop with the self-denigration. Okay?”

Cas shuddered. He bent inward, putting Dean into a C-curve, and rested his lips on the spot between Dean's neck and shoulder. “Dean... I will try,” he promised.

Again, Dean felt something gliding over his body, soft and warm. But, there was nothing. Just Castiel. It was a weird feeling, but also comforting. Like wind that had weight. Powerful yet gentle. He pressed back at the sensation, feeling it getting stronger.

Cas went a bit stiff, and quit breathing. “Dean?”

“Yeah?” Dean chased the wind with a fingertip, feeling it had an edge, a boundary.

“What... What are you doing?” Cas asked very quietly.

“Giving in to some strange fancy that the wind likes me,” Dean said, chuckling. “Don't you feel it, Cas? It's over top of us. Warm and strong.” He toyed with the edge again, feeling the whispering of tensile flexibility. His fingertips began to tingle.

The wind whipped back and vanished. Dean sighed in regret. “I touched the wind wrong,” he lamented. “Didn't know I could be inappropriate to the wind. You're not the only one who does the wrong thing without meaning to, Cas.”

“Courting winds spirits is dangerous,” Cas said, his tone one of sober caution. “Even getting their attention is unwise. They are capricious.”

“Well, that one felt comforting,” Dean said. And, how was this his life? Before meeting Cas he hadn't known of werewolves, witches, and monsters. Hadn't known of God, Lucifer, Michael or angels. “It felt like shelter,” he added.

Cas trembled a little bit, and Dean wondered if he was cold. No, Cas didn't really get cold. Maybe that had been a tremor of unease.

“So, this fight Michael has with Lucifer,” Dean said. “It's going on all the time?”

“...no,” Cas said softly. “Michael is stronger than Lucifer. Lucifer causes trouble and uprisings within the Host of Heaven, and Michael subdues him. Over and over. Lucifer never stays down for long, but Michael is loyal to God, and will always thwart the Evil One.”

Dean smiled. “He's a good guy,” he said.

“He's an archangel,” Cas corrected. “The most powerful angel created. I admire him.”

“Why don't you tell him so, then?” Dean asked. “Here, we can tell him together. I'll start, and you finish.” He cleared his throat. “I pray to archangel Michael. You're a good-guy angel, and I appreciate what you do.” He paused. “Now you, Cas.”

Cas chuckled a little. “I pray to Michael, the Prince of Heaven, leader of the Host, God's most trusted, he who escorts the righteous souls to their reward. Thank you for blessing my family line so long ago.”

Dean felt Michael's humor directed toward them, and his gentle patience. Michael didn't say anything, but he didn't have to. Dean knew he'd looked in on them, and it was enough.

“Feel better, Cas?” Dean asked. “Michael totally listens to you, you know.”

“Of course he does,” Cas said. “How do you know that, though?”

“You told me so,” Dean reminded. “You might get to actually see him, if you ask for it.”

“I would be terrified,” Cas whispered harshly. “I am not worthy to look at Michael.”

Dean sighed. “Why? Because you're a monster? You're not a monster. Damn, you're stubborn.”

Cas didn't say anything else, and gradually, Dean surrendered into awkward sleep.

(________________________________________________________________)

No one said much of anything about the newlyweds coming back to the house early, probably because everyone was well aware of Zachariah's orders, and the fact Dean was not at his usual health. And, everyone was tense, too, what with the bigger problems the manor faced.

The very day Dean and Cas returned to the house, the governor's runner-boy came to deliver news both worrying and liberating. Another push by the Maholak had caused all available soldiers and law enforcement to be repositioned, recalled, and stationed at various points. There were no men to spare for the disciplining of the town alphas, therefore.

The governor's boy, trained to memorize and repeat word for word what his master said, reported to Castiel that, “You are to use whatever force needed to subdue an uprising, even to arming your omegas. You are to defend yourself and your holdings, your people and your sailors. I, Governor Uriel, authorize Castiel Novak, Naomi Novak, and Zachariah Novak, to defend their places and values with as much force as they deem fit.”

The boy shut his mouth, and looked expectantly at Cas. “May I eat and rest before I return with your reply, Master Novak?”

“Of course.” Cas put his hand on the boy's head. “Go to the kitchen.” He pointed the way. “Ellen will feed you.”

“He can sleep out in the stables with me, if he wants to,” Bobby offered. He'd followed the boy in, and had probably been the one to meet him outside.

“Make him a good bed,” Cas said, nodding.

Dean looked to the side and upward. Sam was standing with him, his face twisted up in conflict.

“If I wasn't a cripple, I'd be helping fight the Maholak scum,” Sam said.

“We need you here,” Cas said flatly. “I'm sorry, Sam, but even if you were the very picture of health, I would not allow you to go. Your expertise will come in handy if the Maholak manage to breech our defenses. Aside, you are a soldier. You are knowledgeable about crowd control, and the threat of our neighbors is more of an eminent problem.”

Sam gave him a half smile. “And, I'll protect Dean to the last,” he added.

“That, of course, is the main one,” Cas said. His eyes flicked to John, who stood at the very back of the group.

Dean's dad was quiet, his attention upon Sam, but he saw Cas looking at him, and he straightened up.

“Winchester,” Cas said. “I cannot ask you to stay. I should not. But, I am.”

“Whatever you want me to do, Novak,” John said softly. “I'm not leaving. Dean asked me to stay and help you fight a war.”

Cas nodded. “Thank you.”

“We can't risk going back to Southerby,” Zachariah said. “It's not required. Malachi and Christine will protect and provide for all of the family and servants. Since we're grounded, and your home is big enough, son, my people should probably just settle in.” He paused to smile. “Your call.”

Dean felt his breath faltering a bit. The patriarch of the family was doing an 'alpha-down' for his son. Submitting. Doing it politely, too, pointing out his reasoning, and seeking permission in front of everyone. Showing he'd tow Castiel's line, and abide by his words.

Castiel had Zachariah's approval to take the reins and be the new alpha of the Novak family.

Dean felt a rush of nerves, and carefully didn't allow his scent to change.

Cas straightened. Blue eyes both bright and dark, he nodded to his father. “Father, Mother,” he said formally. “I request that you stay in Tor-Valen until matters stabilize. I and my household will provide all you require.” He held his hand out toward Dean, and Dean found himself moving toward Cas.

Their fingers laced.

“My hadja-panya, Dean,” Cas said softly, looking him in the eyes. “Will you stand?”

“I'm your partner, Cas,” Dean heard himself saying. “You have help. I'm here.”

Cas closed his eyes briefly, as if deeply relieved. He brought Dean's hand in, and kissed the back of it. “Stay alert, regularly check on my parents. Take Crowley as your relief help. If he acts to protect you, or, anyone else, don't contradict him.”

“I do as you ask,” Dean promised, searching the small crowd of people for the wily tailor, and finding him quickly. The man gave him a grin and a salute.

Cas seemed reluctant to let go of Dean's hand.

“John,” Cas said to Dean's dad. “Don and Maggie Stark were my brother Samandriel's servants, and they turned out to be witches of negative alignment. They fled here before I could slay them. And, I have no reason to believe they will make an attempt upon this household, but their threat remains. I request you devote your attention to supernatural threats upon this house, with a special eye toward this couple.”

Dean watched, fascinated and emboldened as his father's body cocked to one side and his dark eyes began to gleam with a promissory, preternatural attention. It was like life poured into John. Like he'd been given a gift, a precious duty. A mantle of purpose and strength settled upon him, and in that moment of acceptance, Dean again saw his father as mighty, fearsome, and _deadly_.

 

Dean could have cried with relief. This was how John Winchester should look.

“As you so order, Master Novak,” John said, sincerity and respect radiating from him like heat waves. “I request the right to build a team, and to educate them. I will need specialized weapons, and the authority to bend my team to my will and expertise.”

“You have it,” Cas said. “Only report to me when you believe it necessary. You have free reign to go through all my people, and to choose the ones you decide are worthy. Go though Meg for the funding of traps and weapons.”

“The Maholak,” Sam blurted suddenly. “They _recruit_ supernatural, evil monsters.”

“They do, boy,” John said lowly.

Cas wiped a hand across his forehead. “Sam,” he said. “You will organize, shape, and control my mother's bodyguards. They are your men, now. I trust you will mold them into proper soldiers, and eliminate the for-hire mercenary mentality they have gleaned to this point.”

Sam snapped to attention, and Dean saw in a half second what his brother had been like as a soldier. Strong, proud, and full of integrity. It was good to see, but Dean worried anyway. And, he was still resentful Sam put in for service at the age of thirteen. His little Sammy all grown up full of manly honor...

“Yes, sir!” Sam called out, his jaw squared and hard.

“Crowley,” Castiel said next, and the tailor came to the forefront quickly. Castiel put a hand on his shoulder, and said nothing for a moment while everyone waited in respectful silence. “You are Dean's best friend,” he said. “You are clever. You are a white witch. I want you to seek out at least three people here you can feel confident of, and to pass your knowledge. Medicine and magical wards should be your focus. The manor, and all of the people we feed and shelter, need the kind of protecting only you can accomplish.”

“Gotcha, sport,” Crowley said easily and smoothly. “Leave it to me.”

Cas nodded. “I can and do,” he vowed.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to those of you who read, comment and wait. I've been pretty sick for awhile. Still not over it. But, want to give a shout out to two very special people. Warkittens, my beta, who helped me clean up my last handful of chapters even though she felt bad, and TheBails, who managed to make fanart while also sick. I guess it's going around. Tis the season.
> 
> This is TheBails site. We are still trying to figure out the protocol for embedding her art to my fic, but I seriously want everyone to go to the link I post to see what she can do. She's amazing. A 'clean' artist. I'd love to have her talent.
> 
> This chapter may change, as Warkittens hasn't had a chance to beta. Just FYI.

Two nights of sleeping in Cas' enormous bed alone, supported only by fleeting moments of seeing him with his command control, and Dean was ready to hit the damned roof.

He missed Cas. Missed him in terrible, painful ways. It would have been better if John and Sam sought him out, or even Crowley, but all of his loved ones were on new, very important duties, and couldn't take the time to be with him.

Desperate for human contact, Dean got up on the third day without his husband, and dressed extra special. He put on his favorite outfit, the somber, solid black that made him an omega warrior. Again, his fans got tucked into a solid white obi, because he was still a virgin. He hated that more now than ever. Still, he took one of Cas' cravats, a blue one, and wrapped it around his left wrist. Wearing something personal of his alpha's showed he _did_ have an alpha, and, that he was happy about that. He didn't have to wear it, it just pleased him to.

At this point, Dean just dressed to please himself, anyway. No one but Kevin would understand clothing cues.

Dean would have to track Kevin down, soon. He missed him. And, this was a large estate, but surely he would have caught sight of the kid occasionally, even with all the time he'd been gone, or sick.

Dean made his way downstairs to find Ellen sweating in the kitchen, upset, with Sky in a straw bassinet in a corner near the fireplace. He put his arms around her and kissed her head. “Tell me what to do,” he said, and he also begged her in that moment. “Sit with your daughter. I'll go berserk if I don't find a distraction, Ellen.”

Ellen smiled as she picked up Sky. “Keep frying the ham slices, and put them on the platter when you're done,” she said. “Eggs are last. I already have the mushrooms crisp and ready.”

“Bread?” Dean asked as he tended the food.

“Bless,” Ellen said. “I hadn't got that far, Dean.”

Dean got all the ham fried, made his mother's flat bread, and got the smooth white cheese from the cellar. Again he made a variation of Mary's Winter Meat Rolls, put on an urn of coffee, and opened six jars of canned peaches. By the time people were up and moving, he had Meg designating people to take out platters.

Sky cried, needing fed and attended, and Dean simply accepted that he'd make milk for a baby that didn't belong to him. “May I, Ellen?” He asked, picking Sky up.

“Dean, it would help,” she answered, her shoulder slumping. “She's always hungry. I had forgotten how much a healthy child wants.”

So, Dean fed Sky while Ellen took over the smaller details of breakfast aftermath. And, as Dean clutched Sky to his right nipple, he felt stupidly complete.

It wasn't fair. It just wasn't. His identity shouldn't be so wrapped up in babies, children, and the continuance of a bloodline. Did he have no other purpose? Dean looked down at Sky. He couldn't resent her. He couldn't. She was a miracle. It wasn't her fault Dean felt a mess.

Ellen leaned on the nearest wall and closed her eyes. Her hair stuck out. She had a soot smear on her cheek, and was wet from dish water.

“Ellen,” Dean said. “You get some rest.” He angled over her, pressed a kiss to her tired brow. “I'll feed her. I'll protect her. I'll bring her back to you in an hour or two. You need some sleep. Go on. I'll tell everyone granola sticks are the fare for the rest of the day.”

“Thank you so much, Dean,” Ellen said, teary eyed, and left out the back kitchen door.

Dean made his report to Meg, and Meg, who wearily wrote in a ledger, nodded. “We're spoiled anyway, Dean,” she said. “Most people don't eat like we do. I'll backhand the first person who complains.”

Yes. Dean figured she would.

Dean settled in a chair closer to the kitchen fireplace, draped a blanket over Sky, and gazed out the window. He felt serene, now, as a caregiver. Ellen trusted him enough to leave her precious child in his care, even to feeding Sky. And, Sky was very hungry. He discovered he didn't produce enough milk for her at at once, and had to keep switching her from nipple to nipple, letting his admittedly masculine breasts catch up.

Of course, with all of Castiel's necessary absence, the master of the house chose feeding time to come into the kitchen and see Dean. A little, automatic smile began curling his lips, but then Castiel sniffed the air. He saw how Dean held his arms under a blanket. He spied the bassinet in the corner.

This time, it wasn't lust that Dean saw in Castiel's eyes, but sorrow. So sudden and profound that Dean's breathing hitched.

“She wanted me,” Dean explained in a whisper. “Ellen was so tired...”

Castiel took a chair close to them. He squeezed his eyes shut, and rubbed his temples. “Are you all right?” He rumbled back.

“Yeah,” Dean assured him. “This is okay, Cas. It's nice Ellen trusts me enough, you know? We're at war, and she's all in disorder. She let me have Sky so she could get some sleep.” He pulled Sky off his left nipple, and adjusted her back to the right one. “I'm going to over-share with you, though. Ready?”

Castiel gave Dean a look of pained humor. “Yes.”

Dean smiled. “This does _not_ feel like it did when _you_ latched on. At all.”

Castiel covered his eyes one-handed, and let out a dry, helpless chuckle, shaking his head. “In the interest of over-sharing, I did wonder,” he admitted.

Dean grinned. He got up, went to the cold storage, and came back with a jar of cherry juice. “Would you get the yogurt out for me?” He asked. “I had one hand too busy.”

Castiel obediently retrieved the yogurt from the cold storage. “If you need to make something, I will do it for you,” he offered.

“Thank you, that's an outstanding 'yes'.” Dean pointed to an empty jar with a secure cork. “Put about a cup of the yogurt into that. Add two spoonfuls of vanilla extract. That's in the spice cabinet in the corner, as far as you can get from the heat.”

“What will this become?” Castiel dumped the yogurt into the jar, and began searching for the vanilla extract.

“I'm dehydrated.” Dean shrugged. “Sky can't get enough from me. At this rate, she'll fall asleep before she's finished. That means Ellen will get a ferociously hungry baby back, which leads to sore nipples. So, we're making a drink that will help _me_ to help _her_.”

“I see.” Castiel found the vanilla, and measured out what was needed.

Dean poured in half of the cherry juice, and put the lid on the jar. “You know, this won't taste half bad. Want to try it? I promise you won't find yourself making milk.”

Castiel smiled faintly. “How do you know?”

“You're an alpha.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “It might surprise you to learn that all mammals are capable of producing milk, even the males, as long as they have nipples.”

Dean looked at him as he shook the jar to blend the ingredients. “Really?”

“Yes. If I had suction applied to mine regularly, I would produce,” Castiel told him. “Men don't have a good record for feeding their offspring. But, imagine early man. His mate, or mates, might have many children to feed. To keep a hungry child from fussing, which is a danger when near predators, a man might resort to offering a baby his own nipple. Eventually, he'd make milk, if it was a regular enough occurrence.”

“Why isn't that talked about?” Dean asked, suddenly _quite_ peeved. “Omega men are made to feel like freaks for so many things, but that kind of bridges a damned gap!”

Castiel nodded sympathetically. “Dean. Non-bearing men don't talk about it because they don't know. They see that they have nipples, but they never think about why. Male arrogance. Those tiny nipples on their chests mean nothing compared to how much pectoral development they can create under them.”

Dean had to think that Castiel was right, there. He poured himself the semi-thick drink and sat back down, again shifting Sky. “Does that mean you'd be willing to feed a baby?” He asked, aware of this as a dangerously intimate topic.

Castiel didn't immediately answer, and Dean could see him considering his answer. His eyes shifted back and forth, his head tilted, and his gaze settled into a misty stare.

“Yes,” Castiel finally said, straightening up. “I believe my diet and composition would not deter me. Do you need me to hold Sky for you in that capacity for a few minutes, so that you may build up more milk?”

Dean gaped at Castiel. He was willing to do it. The alpha master of the house.

“You know what? _Yes_.” Dean carefully pulled Sky free. Even while he did so, Castiel worked to unbutton his shirt.

Castiel, unashamed of the task, unconcerned with having his clothing askew outside his own bedroom, immediately put Sky to his left nipple. He promptly made a face. “Gracious,” he muttered. “I wouldn't credit a mouth this small so capable of creating hard suction. Is she not hurting you, Dean?”

“Eh,” Dean said. “It's not anything to be avoided. Like I said, nothing like what you did.”

“Thank God.” Castiel took a sip of Dean's concoction. “That's good. Healthy, too, I imagine.”

Dean couldn't help sitting back to linger with the view. Handsome Cas with a baby trying to nurse him. It was incredibly hot, in a family way. Strong, unselfconscious alpha, taking care of a vulnerable child. Responsible.

Dean expected Sky to be fussing by now, frustrated she couldn't get any milk, but she looked like she was drinking. Reflex, most likely. Stick a finger in a baby's mouth, and it will suck and swallow.

“How precious she is,” Castiel murmured, looking down at her, his blue eyes soft with wonder. He smiled, stroking her cheek with one of his long, lovely fingers. “So innocent. So full of promise.”

Dean's heart clenched. He wanted to see his own baby in Cas' arms. Badly. But, this was nice. A glimpse into what Cas would be like as a father.

“She'll be an omega, I think,” Castiel went on. “But, she has a good family. They will take care of her. I will see that she and the Harvelles never need worry for food and shelter.” He traced a symbol on Sky's forehead, and Dean thought it looked like a lopsided X. “Sky Harvelle,” he said. “I bless you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”

Dean felt he'd just seen something important, but he didn't ask. Until he knew how to ask his questions properly, he'd refrain.

Castiel gently disengaged Sky from himself, and handed her back to Dean. “She seems sleepy,” he said.

Dean thought that wasn't a near enough approximation. Sky smiled as if happily drugged. He put her to himself, letting her feed just a bit more while getting a cloth and pins from Ellen's baby care bag. He set those things out, and pumped water into one of the sinks. He added hot water from a chimney kettle, which completely drained it, prompting him to refill and hang it back up before getting another one.

Dean got the water nicely warm, and found a bar of goat's milk soap. He took Sky's diaper off and threw it into the fire. He didn't feel like dealing with washing out a soiled nappy.

Kitchen servants started coming in with dirty plates, and he directed them to stack them on a work table. He'd deal with that after Sky got her bath. He entirely forgot about Castiel for at least ten minutes, and when he remembered, halfway through cleaning Sky, he found Tor-Valen's 'Sir' ten feet down, washing dishes.

“Really?” Dean blurted.

Sky laughed and splashed.

Castiel shrugged one shoulder. “Repetitive work allows me to think. Besides, you need help. Where are all the people my mother assigned to Ellen?”

“I have no earthly clue,” Dean admitted. He soaped Sky's feet, and had to smile at how she giggled. “They're an anxious lot. What with the heightened sense of threat, they might be holed up somewhere together.”

Castiel, sighing, rinsed a plate. “You've spoiled me, Dean. I now expect other people to have your sense of duty.”

Flattered, Dean just smiled and finished bathing Sky. He dried her with a soft, clean dish towel, and put the new diaper on her. As she drooped with having all creature comforts being met, Dean wrapped her in a larger dish cloth as soft as her diaper. He put her in the bassinet, feeling he accomplished something.

Dean picked up the cleverly woven baby basket, and began to rock Sky, singing a song from his childhood.

“Feel that soft rain, baby of mine,

touching your face, tapping in time,

growing the green, sprouting the thyme...”

Dean checked on Sky's progress to sleep, finding her in the last stage, probably, of fighting it. Having a fully belly, and a warm bath, she didn't have much resistance.

He smiled, and kept singing.

“Face to the sun, baby of mine,

warming your skin, growing the vines,

causing the life, feeling so fine...”

Sky slept.

Dean didn't need the next four verses. He felt glad.

Proud, Dean carefully put the bassinet under the crook of his arm, got the baby care bag, and sought Castiel. “Would you walk with me to give her back to her family?” He asked. It was a short enough trip, but Dean didn't feel like being alert.

Castiel nodded, and Dean pondered why his eyes would hold so much wonder. Baby care wasn't that difficult.

Together, Dean and Cas left the kitchen, beginning the small journey to the servant cabins. Bill answered the door when Dean softly knocked, and, when he saw them with Sky, he smiled.

“I'll take the little darling,” Bill said, reaching out. “Thank you, Dean. Ellen is sleeping hard. Did Sky get enough milk from you?”

“I think so. I gave her a bath and changed her nappy, so she might sleep another few hours,” Dean reported.

“You're a god-send,” Bill swore. “What with all this uproar, it's hard to keep Ellen fit to feed this lovely girl.”

“I'll take over for Ellen anytime she wants,” Dean promised. “You make sure she knows that. I'll probably produce milk for Sky constantly, now that she's asked me for it. It might be convenient for both of them if I take over a portion of Sky's needs.”

Bill's eyebrows went up slightly. “It works like that?”

Dean gave a tired chuckle. “Yes. At least, it did for my beta mother. The more milk demanded, the more made. Regular nursing will make me dependable. So, you tell your wife that I'll be in the kitchen around noon to take over for her a little bit, okay? What she does is hard, but a baby makes her work even harder.”

“Bill,” Castiel interjected before Bill could reply. “What happened to Ellen's staff?”

“Pssssh,” Bill said, rolling his eyes. “They were useless. Ellen sent them to the laundry house the day before yesterday.”

Cas swore. “This will be addressed,” he vowed. “Ellen needs help. She _cannot_ feed an army by herself!”

Bill gave Castiel a smile of approval and thanks. “I appreciate you care,” he said.

“I do.” Cas put a hand on Dean's shoulder. “My apologies for making you stand there to let your heat out. I will confer with you on the morrow, yes?”

“Of course, Master Novak,” Bill said warmly. “Get some sleep, sirs. Good night.” He stepped back, and gently closed his front door.

“Sirs?” Dean asked as Castiel escorted him back to the house.

“You're my husband, Dean,” Castiel said. “Under the edicts of alpha laws, you have gained a nobler status. No one is supposed to treat you any lower than a beta, now. It will take you some time to adjust to the intricate and subtle biases associated with your new class, and for that I'm sorry. Still, you are to be addressed as 'sir' by those lower in the caste system than me, your husband, and if people do not conform...”

Castiel heaved a great sigh, and opened the kitchen door. “Well. It's up to you. However, if you are insulted or molested, you must act. It doesn't matter if you deal with it personally, or if you call me into the problem, but the fact remains. You married a high status alpha, and you are due a higher status yourself.”

“Shit.” Dean grabbed an ash pan and went to the primary fireplace. “I had no idea about this.” He poked the logs a bit until satisfied all the loose stuff had sifted down, then got one of the fireplace shovels and began raking ashes to the lip of the depression. “Your family is really high up, but higher than I thought, maybe.”

“Dean.” Castiel said his name reverently. “There are no poor people in my enormous family. I have thousands of cousins. Novaks take care of their own, and my particular branch of the family tree is more like the trunk. The body. We are of the highest status.” He sat on the cutting table and began swinging his legs as if energized, or, nervous. “My mother married my father specifically. Distant cousins wedding merely for the purpose of creating purer alpha males.”

Dean filled a bucket while thinking of Cas' information. Some of it was rehash, some not. He set the hot zinc container aside and grabbed another one, because he still had more ashes to rake. “Are you telling me that I'm the husband of the top of the line?” He asked.

“Yes.” Castiel gripped the table and stared down at the floor. “You are...” Castiel exhaled through his nose sharply. “There is no nobility in the government, but Novaks are as close as it gets. That last name gets even the lowest relations a special pass. My father has been funding the fight against the Maholak threat his entire life. He and my mother were wed with particular thought, Dean. My father's side are the inheritors, my mother's side the educated industrialists. But, all descend from fishermen.”

Dean cleaned out the other fireplace and the four stoves, loaded them up and refilled all the numerous kettles while he considered this information. And, all the time, Castiel sat on the cutting table, just kicking his legs in rhythm. Agitated. Or, possibly he felt nervous.

“No wonder,” Dean finally said. “You picked out an omega mate, sent word to your parents, and your mother fainted.”

“Yes,” Castiel agreed.

“And, that was why Samandriel caught so much slack.” Dean slapped his forehead. “The family line was just _that_ important to keep going. One way or the other, children had to be born.” He knew this already, but it was more colorful now, sharper and in focus.

Cas' family was so powerful and influential that Dean's status _had_ to go up as well.

Dean wondered if that lawfully took him out of the weapon's ban for omegas.

“Yes,” Castiel said again, sighing. “Samandriel was better than nothing. I hate to put it that way.”

Dean felt a touch hysterical. He shoved the feeling down, and smothered his scent. “I'm not allowed to have children until there's a doctor able to deal with me to the damned nines. I _can't_ die in childbirth. It would mean disaster.”

Dean stood up and sucked wind as the importance of the whole thing swooped in. “They don't just invest in me as the promise of the blood. They _like_ me. They think I'm perfectly suited to you. And, because of that, I hold in my hands the responsibility of your family's entire continuance!”

Why hadn't the full meaning really lodged into his head until now?

Castiel bowed his head. “Yes,” he agreed softly. “In my desperate need to keep this estate and all upon it, I relented to the pressure of taking a mate.” He paused in order to audibly swallow. “And so, I purchased you, Dean.”

Dean had known all these things, except for the real status of the Novak family, but the grandness hadn't sunk in until seeing Cas sitting there on a table, looking awkward.

Dean groped for support. He found the back of a chair, and leaned. With careful effort, he was able to sit. “Oh, shit,” he breathed, looking up at his alpha. “Cas... Cas, I'm so _sorry_.” The events that brought him to this point had gained an entirely new dimension. “You were perfectly happy on your own. You didn't want this!”

“You are a bright spot in my life, Dean,” Castiel murmured. “I have no regrets for permanently linking to you. I'm more concerned with _deserving_ you, and keeping you safe. Healthy. Alive.”

Dean groaned. “Don't start with that _deserving_ business,” he said. “I'm just me, Cas. Dean. I'm not all that special.”

“You can think that all you want, but it doesn't change anything.” Cas slid off the table, and went to the sink. He pumped cold water, letting it splash into his cupped hands.

Dean watched those hands come up and gently press. Cas covered his whole face with them. He looked tired. Very tired.

“Cas. Let's go to bed,” Dean said. “I know it's not time, but we're both worn thin.”

Cas nodded. “Yes, Dean.”

They left the kitchen together, and went upstairs. Cas looked at the messy bed, as Dean had abandoned it that way, and smiled a little. “At least my room and bed smell like you,” he said. “You're like a drug, Dean. I don't sleep well when I'm away from you.”

“Same here.” Dean helped Castiel get his dangling shirt off, taking a moment to feel those strong shoulders. “So, quit avoiding bedtime. Or, would you do better if I rocked you and sang songs?”

Castiel huffed a laugh. “Try it,” he suggested.

Dean thought he might do that sometime.

As they settled, Dean wondered what it would be like to grow up knowing you'd be expected to take over an empire. He didn't envy Cas' upbringing.

That must have been awful.

(________________________________________________________________)

Dean was the first to awaken, of course. He hated to leave the bed and the warm, solid press of Castiel's body, but he had to pee so bad he thought he'd pop. He managed to slide out without awakening his husband, and made a visit to the special new toilet. Then, he washed his face and had a look at himself in the mysteriously present mirror.

Not bad. Still a little gaunt, but a far cry from how he'd been prior to the wedding. “Thanks, Michael,” he said aloud, softly. “I couldn't have done it without you. You saved me.”

Michael didn't reply, but Dean hadn't expected him to, as he hadn't specifically set out to pray.

Dean returned to the bedroom, and started thinking about clothing. He wanted to look extra nice, even tempting. He wanted Cas' eyes drawn his way.

All during his upbringing, Dean had focused on the warrior aspect of training, but he'd paid attention to the seduction techniques, too. Because, any trick or advantage should be noted.

As quietly as possible, Dean began going through the vast amount of clothing Castiel had provided for him sight unseen, the things that awaited Dean his first night at Tor-Valen. His eyes lingered on the dark green kimono with the tiger on it. Dean ran his hand over the silk, and smiled. He would wear this today. Maybe it would remind Cas of their first meeting.

Dean put all the other clothing back, and donned a pair of white silk trousers. He put on the under-kimono, also white silk, and then the kimono itself. He tucked his fans into the white obi. Then, he went through Castiel's toiletries. He found beeswax balm. That would do. He lightly touched a small amount to his eyelashes. The extra he simply rubbed into the backs of his hands.

Quietly, Dean raked out ashes and built up Castiel's fireplace. He rubbed an index finger into cold, dark ashes, and applied it to his slightly sticky lashes. Their length would stand out, now. He washed his hands again, and chose clothing for Castiel, laying it out on the bed. Now, he'd go downstairs and make his alpha some breakfast.

Of course, it was chaotic in the kitchen. Ellen, by herself again, had too many irons in too many fires. Sky wasn't fretting yet, but she moved around in her bassinet as if bored. “I've got her,” Dean said before Ellen could even peep. “You do what you have to do, Ellen. I'll return in a few minutes.” He put Sky to his chest, and covered her with her thick, soft blanket. He then grabbed his cloak from the peg behind the kitchen door.

With the baby well protected from the cold, Dean began walking to the laundry house. It wasn't very far, and people wandered about in large groups, so he felt safe enough. He waved to Bill, who was outside splitting wood. Then, Dean detoured, and went right for the man.

“Mornin',” Bill greeted, and he dropped the head of his ax down so he could lean on the end of the handle. “I see you have my girl, there. Well, I smell that you do.”

“Yeah. Ellen's having a small dust-up in the kitchen all by herself.” Dean rocked his body in place to keep Sky content. “Come with me. Let's fix the mess. Ellen just can't keep on like this, Bill.”

“I know, but she's so determined,” Bill sighed. He set his ax against the cutting block, and bent over to get his coat. “I don't 'alpha-insist' with her, sir.”

“First off, I'm still Dean, to _you_ ,” Dean corrected. “Second, you're going to _have_ to 'alpha-insist'. Ellen's pride isn't enough to keep her going. She's been feeding the regular staff a long time, but our numbers have increased. If I have to spend all day, every day, in that kitchen, until these servants know what to do, I will. Your wife can't go it alone anymore. That's a rule.”

Bill grinned as he shrugged on his coat. “Very well, 'Sir Dean'.”

“Cut it out,” Dean said, chuckling.

They went to the laundry house, united.

Dean's new status came to light when he entered the door. All the servants quit working to line up for him. They looked a little frightened, with their wide, attentive eyes and unnatural stillness.

The regular house staff hadn't been treating Dean any differently, but, perhaps because they knew him better? These servants, mostly unknown to Dean, didn't know what to expect from him. Possibly, they thought he resented them for witnessing the flogging.

“Hands up, original kitchen crew that Madam Novak assigned,” Dean ordered.

Many pairs of hands went up.

Dean did not approve. Not only had these people neglected a duty ordered by his husband's _mother_ , they'd gone into hiding. He couldn't trust them. Ellen deserved better than shirkers, anyway. “Go and report to Madame Novak, and inform _her_ of your reasons for abandoning your post,” he said. “Afterward, do as she tells you. If I find out you've disobeyed again, you will be dismissed. Tor-Valen is for people who work.” Dean waved a hand toward the door. “Go quickly.”

The team of servants fled, some of them sniffling, but Dean hardened his heart. “Hands up, scullery maids of the St. Addams refugees I assigned to help Ellen.”

Nine hands, this time.

“Stand over here,” Dean said. He waited for them to shuffle closer, to one side, and noted they really looked frightened, now. “I want you to all listen.” He paused to make sure he had their full attention. “Some of you may or may not know Bill Harvelle.” He put a hand on Bill's shoulder. “This man is Ellen's husband. You remember Ellen. She's the one who feeds us all.”

Some people began to look very guilty, and Dean zeroed in on them immediately. He made sure to keep his eyes going between them. “Bill and Ellen have a baby daughter.” He pushed his cloak back so everyone in the laundry house could see Sky's swaddled form. “Ellen is so tired from overwork that she's having a hard time feeding her baby.”

A girl in the back of the room made a noise of dismay, and Dean held a hand up to motion her closer. It was Kara, the laundry maid from St. Addams household. “Kara? Would you like to help Ellen?”

“If it's all right,” she said softly.

“Fine.” Dean smiled a little. “You help Ellen any way she asks, okay? Pay attention to what she does, and see if you can't learn to do things _before_ she asks. That's going to be tough, probably, but if you focus hard, you'll probably accomplish it.”

“Yes, sir,” Kara said.

Dean looked at the St. Addams scullery maids. “You do the dishes, sweep and mop. Clean. Rake out ashes, build fires. Clean up before and after meals. Don't do anything else. Don't get in Ellen's way. Don't talk, unless it's to quietly whisper to each other. If Ellen asks you a direct question, answer. If she asks you to do something other than your duty, do it. Otherwise, you aren't to interfere with what she does. She is the queen of the kitchen, understand?”

The girls nodded quickly.

“Good. As of now, you are on duty. Keep watch for trouble, and go.”

Kara and the girls quickly left the laundry house.

Dean faced the rest of the servants, Tor-Valen's own, and St. Addams orphans. “No one who does the domestic chores should be permanently assigned. It's _boring_.”

Someone giggled nervously.

Dean grinned. “You all know I'm right. So, talk amongst yourselves. You want to trade up or out, learn something else, work in a different area awhile, then approach someone, and ask to help them until you understand what they do. It's very possible they'd like to switch, too, you know.”

A hand got lifted. Dean pointed at them.

“You mean, if I want to clean the house instead of do the laundry, I should go and talk to a house maid?” The teenager asked.

“Exactly. Try Alisha. She's on top of her job.”

“Yes, sir,” the girl said.

“Anyone else?” Dean asked.

Nothing.

“Okay.” Dean pulled his cloak back over Sky. “Two more things. One, yes, we are at war. Continue to only travel back and forth in large groups. I know it's a hassle, but you're safer in numbers. I took a risk with the first two groups, but I came in here at in high dudgeon.” Dean sighed shortly. “I don't expect I'll have to come back and sort a mess like this again. Don't squabble or fuss, just balance yourselves out in numbers, and go to Meg if you have a conflict.”

Dean wanted this over with. Too many pairs of eyes, looking at him in fear. “Two,” he said, holding his hand up, “you guys are too damned _quiet_. Let's hear some talking, some singing out here. Just because you have a dull job doesn't mean you've got to be dull in your hearts.”

Now, Dean heard relieved sighing, and a few more people laughing quietly.

Dean grinned. “One more thing, and I'll let you be,” he promised. “Tor-Valen staff? We have a lot of new people here that came from a house so much worse than anything you can imagine. And, they need your help, your smiles, and your time. I can't force you to be generous, but remember who you work for. My husband is a good man. Make him proud.”

Dean put his hand on Bill's shoulder as a signal he wanted to leave, and Bill escorted him out. Dean heard a woman whisper just before the door shut, “We could sing 'Mountain Pass Harmony'! We have enough people!”

Bill, quiet but smiling, escorted Dean all the way back to his cabin. Once there, he gave Dean a look of approval and humor. “You made them look at me and my daughter. That made Ellen's problem real to them. You gave leave to learn new tasks, the possibility to change. You planted seeds of friendship, and watered them with loyalty. And, you did it all in eight minutes. Hot damn, you're good.”

“Thank you. I'd bow, but I'm holding your baby.” Dean clapped Bill lightly on the shoulder. “Going back to the kitchen, now. I want to make Cas a good breakfast. Besides, I have to watch and see if everyone does their duty right, and intervene with them if Ellen starts to fuss.”

“Good luck,” Bill said, grinning.

“I'll need it.”

Dean walked back, deciding to stand outside the kitchen door a moment, listening. He didn't hear much. So, he entered. He saw the scullery girls working hard to wash pots and pans, and Kara taking plates out to the servant's dining room. Ellen gave Dean such a look.

“Even green initiates are better than breaking your back,” Dean said, preempting her commentary. “You need help, and you know it.” He put Sky back in her bassinet, as she'd fallen asleep.

Ellen, lips compressing into a thin line, nodded shortly.

Dean made Castiel his fruit, yogurt and granola dish, and then a pot of tea. He prepared only canned peaches with yogurt atop for himself, and carried the tray upstairs. His appetite was off for some reason, but he didn't question it too hard.

He opened the bedroom door to find Cas awake, dressed, and speaking to Sam. Both turned to look at him and smile.

“Hey!” Sam took the tray from his hands, and set it on the desk. “You look better, Dean.”

Dean smiled at the alpha attention his brother gave. He'd only taken a tray from Dean's hands, but he'd done it so _naturally_. Unthinking. Take care of an omega, take care of my brother.

Sam had learned good manners towards omegas, and Dean would bet he'd learned how to treat women properly, too.

“I'm pretty tough,” Dean said. “How are things, Sam?”

“Good. Those mercenaries keep wanting to act independently, but they're improving.” Sam carefully patted Dean on the shoulder, as if thinking he might be taking a liberty, but wanting contact. “That's beautiful, what you're wearing. Better than the ones I saw while on my tour of duty.”

Dean smiled, and his eyes slid to Castiel, who was looking at Dean intently. “This old thing?” He said in a winsome way, and his brother laughed.

“Well, I was just up giving a report,” Sam said. He turned to Cas. “Anything further, Master Novak?”

“No, Sam,” Cas said. “Thank you for the update. I'll be checking on your father's progress today, too, and it's good to have information from all parts of your family.”

“Okay.” Sam stood straight, going rigid, and saluted Cas. He smiled one more time at Dean, and headed for the stairs, whistling.

“He likes feeling useful,” Cas remarked lowly. “As do you, and your father. Not a family of idle people, Dean.”

Dean came in, and shut the door. He wanted to spend more time with Sam. Why did shit always get in his way, there? “In the blood, I suppose.” He sat on the bed, then laid back with his legs dangling. “I have to visit Venture today, but I'd like to go with you when you seek my father.”

“Of course.” Cas took the tray from the desk, and put it on the bed. “You didn't want the granola? I presume the peaches are what you intended for yourself.”

“Still eating lightly. I really don't want anything, but I know better than to think you'll let me get by with that.”

“I knew you were a smart man.” Cas sat beside of Dean, legs folded, and took up a slice of peach. “Open.”

Dean accepted the peach. It tasted really good, cold and sweet. The flavor woke up his appetite, slightly.

“You were wearing this kimono when I met you,” Castiel said, and Dean smiled.

“Yes.” Dean shrugged as well as able while lying down. “I like the tiger.”

Cas had a bite of his own meal, his eyes going down to the pattern of the cat moving out from bamboo stalks. “Being honest, seeing you in this particular kimono makes me think on that day. How frightened you were. My gauche mistake in trying to ride behind you. The way you fell asleep against my back.”

Hm. Dean didn't want Cas dwelling on the bad things. Maybe this hadn't been the best idea. “You made me feel safe,” he reminded him. “More than that, you made me feel important.”

Cas fed him another peach slice, this time with yogurt on it. “You are important.”

“Because I'm a righteous man, and a bright soul?” Dean asked gently.

“I couldn't possibly sum up all the reasons you are special.” Cas poured tea, and had a sip, his eyes taking in Dean's body at leisure. “To my shame, a few of them are more in my mind than others, presently.”

Ah. Not as much of a failure as Dean thought, choosing this kimono.

“I dressed like this for you, today,” Dean admitted. “You could never know the things you made me feel when I first saw you. Never in my life had I knelt for an alpha. And then, there you were.” Dean closed his eyes to spare Castiel the examination, because he was going to spill his guts.

“I'd never encountered a man like you,” Dean said. “Eyes like jewels. Tall and handsome and strong. Dark, rumbling voice. And, your scent...” Dean sighed, and opened his eyes again, compelled to see Castiel. “That fear you saw and smelled on me was self-inflicted, Cas. All my life I've smelled alphas that just _stink_. But, you? No.”

Cas was looking at him with so much attention Dean felt like the man might be trying to crawl inside him through his eyes. He'd forgotten to eat, and sat there with his spoon dangling limply.

“Autumn rain, and heather, and cedar on a bonfire,” Dean said softly. “That's what you smell like. Clean, honest, and powerful. That's why, when we sleep together, I put my face to the skin over your alpha glands. I associate your scent with goodness. Because, as I looked down at you from your own horse, mortified that I'd gotten hard just from the feel of you rocking into me from behind...” Dean smiled at Cas, then. “I looked into your pretty blue eyes, and saw you would never, ever, deliberately hurt me.”

“Dean...” Castiel whispered shakily.

“You don't know,” Dean persisted. “You have no idea. I realized I'd been bought by an alpha that didn't need to be convinced of my worth. I was valuable to you as a living creature, with thoughts and feelings, not because I was a breeder, or, because you wanted to stick your knot in me.

“That was the first time in my life I felt I could stay with the one who bought me. And, like your mother said, that was one of the reasons I had Garth burn your brand into my back three days later. Everyone here loved you, and felt deeply loyal. I knew I had to do everything possible to stay, to keep all of us here. I took advantage of an old law. And, despite how much you hate seeing that scar on me, I can't help but value it. The pain wasn't anything compared to knowing no one could take me from you.”

Dean paused for a moment, seeing Castiel was breathing very hard. His eyes were stricken and wet.

“Cas, you needed protecting as well as I did, you see?” Dean asked. “I admire you for your feelings on equality, I do. But, we're forced or coerced into playing a rotten game. I only turned it to our advantage. The branding took four seconds. Our misunderstanding only lasted twenty-seven hours. Now, look at us. Safely bonded, Novak fortune and holdings secure, family and loved ones all around.

“So, go ahead and beat yourself up over what's happened, if you have to. I'm no stranger to that, I promise. I do it, too. Just be sure you consider that sometimes things happen for a reason. All in all, I'll take the suffering. It seems like I get rewarded for it, you know?” Dean smiled. “Hey. You okay?”

“I don't know,” Castiel breathed. “That was... You are...” He exhaled and slumped over. His eyes were glazed over. “You've never said so much to me, Dean.”

“I've got so much to say, but I've never wanted to speak,” Dean reminded him quietly. “Thing is, I have to. My fans can't tell you as much as my lips.”

 


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say THANK YOU. I have had so many things in my way. I was/still am so sick. I had a friend of twenty-some years die in her sleep. On friggin' Christmas. On Christmas Day. I developed cubital tunnel syndrome trying to get this story posted. It's like Carpal Tunnel, but renders my little fingers and ring fingers dead on each hand. The more I try to type, the worse it is, and I don't have insurance. I am now typing with six fingers, Holy Hell, is it bad.
> 
> I did not enjoy leaving my story hanging. It has been the worst hell to not type. What gives me the most joy in all of this been denied to me. My mother and father have needed me so much lately that it is no joke. On top of all of this is schizophrenia.
> 
> TMI, probably. Sorry. Just saying, lots of problems crashing down at once. Big problems,
> 
> I love all of you for commenting, and giving support. I truly do. I hate that I have about one hour every day to look and see what you all think/want. More, I hate that I can't comment to all your reviews.

Dean spent time with his horse. The baby remembered him, and had grown enough to be even more curious. So, Bobby let Venture into a paddock with Standing Tall and Brave Soul, and Dean walked around with the little family in the deep snow. Bobby gave Dean a bright red, rubber ball, and told him to have fun.

At first, Dean was mystified. Play ball with a horse? Really? Venture didn't seem as if he liked the looks of the thing. So, Dean put it down, backing away to show it couldn't move on its own.

Both adult horses came forward for a look, so Venture eventually had to as well. Suddenly, Brave gave a high pitched whinny, and began dancing in place. But, not nervously. No, he began pushing the ball around with his nose, and his noises changed to something Dean could only think was satisfaction.

Brave gave the ball a kick, and ran after it.

Dean watched, grinning, as Brave reverted to a child. Bobby must have given Brave the ball when he was little, and he remembered it as a fun thing.

In a few minutes, Standing Tall and Venture joined. Then, Dean. It was loads of fun, the four-way. Dean couldn't possibly hope to get the ball before his equine playmates, not unless it landed close. The horses seemed to figure this out, too, for the ball started coming his way more often.

They played for a long time, until Dean was happily winded. Bobby came out to get them, laughing at Dean's expression. “People don't give critters enough credit,” the old alpha said. “Brave stopped chasing the ball once he was trained for combat situations. Guess he thought he outgrew it. But, his kid was an excuse to play again.”

“That was so much fun,” Dean panted. “Thanks, Bobby.”

“You're welcome. Now, come in with me, and I'll show you how to take care of them.”

So, Dean spent another hour learning the basics about horses. He felt almost dizzy with trying to absorb the information, and he thought he asked a lot of dumb questions. Bobby was patient, but grinned and shook his head a lot.

Yeah, dumb.

Dean absolutely needed a bath, now, so he went back to the house and asked Meg if she'd send Wilkes and Faraday to fill the tub for him. She agreed. He checked on Ellen and Sky, and found Ellen actually sitting down while Kara cooked.

“The world is coming to an end,” he said.

Ellen tisked. “Kara has a little experience just by helping her mother as a child,” she said.

Dean remembered that Kara's family had starved to death under St. Addams' care, and her choice to work in the kitchen suddenly seemed very natural. The girl was afraid of starving, of other people starving, and here she could soothe herself by watching the supplies, being involved in the process.

“She's doing well, too,” Ellen praised.

Dean leaned over, and while keeping an eye out to make sure Kara didn't notice, he whispered in Ellen's ear. “Her family is dead, Ellen. St. Addams let them starve to death. The poor girl wants to be around food.”

Ellen bowed her head. “I see,” she said softly, her voice rough with sympathetic pain. “I'll take care of her.”

“I think you can take care of each other,” Dean pointed out. He left, and went upstairs to wait for his tub to be filled. While waiting, he built up the fire. He chose clean clothes, too.

“Married life treating you okay?” Wilkes asked as he came in with a pail of hot water. It was his twelfth trip just since Dean arrived.

“Landed the hottest guy, ever, and he's _kind_ ,” Dean answered smartly. “What do _you_ think?”

Wilkes snickered. “Stupid to ask, right.” He turned, and went back down the stairs.

The men finished in twenty minutes. Dean shut the door, stripped, and got in the wonderful hot water. It was about four o'clock, now, and he wondered where his hot, kind husband might be. He was so warm and relaxed that he dozed off, and when he came awake it wasn't because the water had cooled. It was because something pointed was touching his neck.

Dean slowly opened his eyes. He didn't know the man standing above him. He was large, hairy, and smelled of an alpha just about to go into rut.

“Hey there,” Dean said, smiling. “That pointy thing for me? I usually like pointy things inserted in me somewhere else, _alpha_.” He talked to buy time, to keep this man off balance. He dragged his eyes up and down the man's body, and licked his lips. “Better lock that door if you want to play, or we might get interrupted. Are you the new kennel master?”

Dean's heart never accelerated. He felt relaxed and easy. All he had to do was get to his fans, which were on the dresser. He should have put them within easier reach.

“No, I'm not the new kennel master,” the alpha spat, looking worried, pissed, and lustful at the same time. “Do you people have sex with knives around here?”

Dean held up his hands. He pointed toward the fireplace with his chin, where Castiel had never bothered to remove the cuffs he'd used to chain Samandriel to the andirons. “I like it kinky,” he defended. “My husband, and a few others, indulge me.” He waggled his eyebrows at the man. “You gonna lock that door or not? I can smell you're about to rut. My husband never ruts...”

Temptation swooped through the alpha. Dean saw it. He _smelled_ it.

“Come on,” Dean pleaded. “Whatever you're here for, man, it can wait a half hour, right? I really don't care what you want. Take it, whatever it is. I'm bought property. I could give a fuck. The man who took me for breeding is about as warm as the weather, and I need a good, hard knot.”

“Julian won't like it,” the man muttered, but his resistance was crumbling.

“Then, Julian obviously doesn't have his priorities straight. What's so fucking important that it can't wait about twenty minutes?” Dean rolled his eyes, and did his best put-upon diva omega act. “Novak's not due back for another hour, but the servants are going to wonder why I haven't called down to have the bath water bailed.” He paused. “ _Lock the door_.”

That did it. The alpha backed up, keeping his eyes on Dean, and Dean took full advantage. He got out of the tub slowly, making a show of stretching and smiling. “Oh, I can't _wait_ ,” he vowed, showing the man his throat. “You gonna tie me up, _alpha_? Fuck me in my husband's bed?” He kept using the words 'fuck', and 'alpha', enforcing the idea, and stroking the guy's ego as much as possible. “Bend me over his oh-so important desk?”

That was a good hit. The alpha's scent swelled with lust and anger. This was one of Cas' enemies, not some lucky brigand. Taking Dean was attractive to him, as was doing it in a place that violated the sanctity of Castiel's most private room.

The man locked the door, and tossed the key into a corner. “By damn, you're gorgeous,” he growled.

Dean thought of Cas, thought of him fucking his legs, the mating bite, and the way he'd drunk from him. A flood of slick released from Dean. He threw a towel over his shoulders to hide his brand, and turned his ass toward the idiot. _Michael_ , he prayed. _Please, help me. Someone came here to kidnap me or kill me, and he's one of Castiel's enemies. I've distracted him by making him think I want his knot, but he's between me and my weapons_.

Just the smallest fraction of wait.

_Child? Do you need him alive?_

_Probably_. Out loud, he said, “Why are you waiting,” to the alpha, and bent over, putting his hands on the tub.

The alpha growled loudly, and began to advance.

Dean felt strength and cold fire pouring into him. He shuddered and gasped, amazed at the feeling of being entered by Michael. It wasn't like the wedding, when Michael braced him. No, this was raw power. Uncontainable, blistering might.

 _You have the strength to do whatever you like to him, now,_ Michael said. _I'm inside you the same way as water fills a pitcher. Simply act as you see fit. You have the control_.

Dean stood up straight and turned around, feeling as if any moment he'd pop apart trying to contain Michael. “You know what?” Dean asked. “I change my mind. I'd rather be ground into a greasy paste than let your filthy cock go into my ass.” And, he grabbed the man by his throat.

The alpha intruder twisted and fought, but Dean's hand and arm had turned into iron. He was full of rage, even wrath, and it shot through his pores as an olfactory _attack_. The alpha went limp with his eyes bugging out.

“See, here's the thing,” Dean said in a conversational tone, _squeezing_ as the man gasped and wheezed, beating Dean anywhere he could. “I'm loyal to my husband. I only led you on to get you close. Sorry. You were thinking with your dick. Sloppy.” He got Castiel's letter opener, and high-slashed at the bell pull. It fell neatly into a coil on the floor.

Dean punched his assailant hard enough to stun him, but not to completely knock him out. Then, he let go of the man's throat and kicked him to the floor, stepping on his neck. With the greatest satisfaction, Dean hog tied the alpha. “Cas is gonna want to talk to you,” he said. “Me? I'd just gut you here and now.”

 _Do you want me to do something about your scent?_ Michael asked.

 _No, I don't suppose,_ Dean answered. _Is it bothering you?_

Michael's amusement flooded Dean. _I'm a light-born_ , he said. _I don't find the scent of you to be motivating. Just... pleasant_. _I'm inside you, Child, using your own sense of smell._

Dean smiled. He rolled the alpha onto his back with his foot. Then, because he could, and because he was filled with fury that so many alphas felt entitled to hurt or exploit his kind, he kicked him in the jaw as hard as he could. Or, he would have. He felt Michael pulling that force at the last moment.

 _With me inside you, you would have separated his head from his neck_ , Michael explained.

 _Oh. Thanks._ Dean felt grateful Michael was ahead of him. _Cas will probably kill him anyway, but he should be given the chance to get information from the man_.

 _Yes. To protect his family, he will probably need to be brutal_.

Dean went to the air vent, and slid off the cover. He grabbed his clean trousers, put them on, then removed the blanket from the duct. “Crowley,” he hissed. He waited a moment. “Crowley!” He hoped the tailor was in his room.

“What is it, buttercup?” Crowley asked, his voice traveling to Dean faintly.

“Go and find Cas. Bring him here. Act natural.”

A pause.

“Are you all right, Dean?” Crowley asked.

“No. I caught a guy in the bedroom. He was here for nothing good. I've got him tied up. Please, go!”

“Immediately,” Crowley promised.

Dean replaced the blanket and duct cover.

_Precious Child, is this method of communication ordinary?_

Dean laughed inwardly. _No. Cas and I were in here enjoying each other's bodies, and I found out Crowley could hear us. So, I plugged the hole. I didn't want our intimacy heard by anyone else_.

 _But, your husband has not claimed you_.

 _Only because we're having issues, and because he's afraid my carrying his child will kill me_ , Dean informed.

 _I would not let that happen. But, I suppose since Castiel cannot open himself to the possibility of my assurance and sanction, I cannot tell him so_.

Dean filled with warmth for Michael. _Thanks. Really. That means a lot to me that you'd protect me that way_.

 _The Novak line must continue,_ Michael said. _Besides, you are very special. But, you must be careful, because I will soon be deeply involved with crushing a Luciferian uprising, and I will not be available. I ask you to employ extra caution, Child_.

_I'll do my best. I seem to have a dangerous life._

_I see that. Child, if you have no further use for me, there is a very small child that needs me to carry her soul to Heaven_.

Dean didn't quite understand that, but all he really had to know was that Michael was needed by a kid. _Go_ , he answered. _Thank you. Kick Lucifer's ass, too_.

More warm amusement. _Of course. Pray to me, Child, even if you do not feel me answer. Because, even unable to respond, I hear you. You are never alone_.

And, just like that, Dean felt Michael leave.

Dean retrieved the key, and unlocked the bedroom door. He grabbed the alpha, threw him onto the bed, and began closing the drapes. “If you make one single peep,” he said to the barely conscious man, “I will slit your throat. Understand?”

As well as he was able, the alpha nodded. The fear in his eyes made Dean feel good.

“Wilkes?” Dean shouted down the stairs.

“Yo,” Wilkes called back.

“I'm gonna wash out my clothes now, so it'll be another half hour, or longer,” Dean said. “That okay?”

“Of course.”

Dean smiled, and shut the door. He put on a shirt and began brushing his teeth. Never had he felt so light in his heart. He'd outsmarted an alpha threat, and Michael had helped him to whip the guy.

Not five minutes after Dean settled, he heard two distinct footfalls on the stairs. He mentally prepared himself for what would come next.

Crowley and Cas came into the bedroom, and Dean motioned toward the bed. “He's tied up,” Dean said before the worried eyes of his husband and best friend could suck out his composure. “The tub needs bailed while keeping him quiet.”

“Done.” Crowley snapped his fingers. “No one will hear him now.”

Castiel advanced upon Dean, and loomed over him with so much worry in his eyes. “Did he hurt you?”

“I put on a seduction act to get his knife away from my neck,” Dean said. “From there, it went to cutting the bell pull, and tying him up.” A shivering feeling went through Dean's guts, then, and all the fear and loathing swept through him like flood water through a storm drain. “I don't know how he got in. It was either the door, or the window, I guess. I fell asleep in the bath, and woke up with his knife pushing at my throat.”

Crowley went to the window, opened it, and looked down. “Climbed the gutter,” he announced. “He's dislodged the ivy.”

“I was too hard asleep to feel the breeze, I guess,” Dean said. He stood. “Cas, if it's okay, can I go to Crowley's room? He can look after me while you get this asshole sorted. After, I'm going to really need you.”

“Dean, _yes_ ,” Castiel blurted. “Yes, go. I will come after you in awhile.” His eyes were glistening spots of indigo.

“Okay.” Dean put his hand on Crowley's shoulder the moment the man was close enough. “Whoever this guy works for, his name is Julian. Just so you know.”

Castiel nodded swiftly, and to Dean it looked like he was about to cry.

Dean grabbed his fans. He held onto Crowley all the way out, and to the crafty old tailor's rooms.

(_________________________________________________________________)

 

Dean didn't know what Crowley gave him to drink, but whatever it was, it made him sleepy. Too sleepy to stay awake. At some point, he felt Cas picking him up and carrying him. The smell of their bedroom came next. Incense was burning. The bed had been changed.

Cas stripped him of clothing and put him under the covers. Then, Dean felt their naked bodies pressing. Cas felt hot and smooth, as always. Dean took a lot of comfort in that, and in his scent. Cas smelled concerned.

“Still alive?” Dean mumbled.

“I cut off his head and sent it to Julian Wexley.” Cas said it calmly, as if thinking Dean might find the news disturbing. “Dean... What did you do to him? He was terrified I'd bring you into the room again. Even the threat of death wasn't as powerful as the idea you'd come back.”

“I _meant_ to scare him,” Dean said. “I didn't know if you'd have to kill him or not.” He closed his eyes. “I really just need to sleep, Cas. It's been a long day. I sorted Ellen's help, played ball with the horses, and vented my spleen on an asshole. I'm done.”

“Of course, Dean. Sleep now,” Cas replied, his voice low and smooth.

Dean slept.

(_________________________________________________________________)

“The problem with keeping secrets is that once it's known you have one, you lose respect.”

Dean looked up from the slim little poetry book at hearing Castiel's words. “You think I don't respect you? You're very, very wrong.” He shut the book, and tossed it to the table at his side. He'd gotten up early, built their fire, dressed, and enlisted the assistance of a maid for a very specific project. Afterward, he'd simply settled. “Secrets engender secrets, though.”

“Yes, and I sense you've added one,” Cas replied. He sat up in bed, and gave Dean a fully attentive look of both worry and irritation.

Dean looked at those bright blue eyes and spiked up, messy hair. He let his attention drop to Castiel's beautiful neck. His shoulders. His hard, tight chest. The little mole near one of his nipples. The way the covers fell across his lap and legs.

“Dean?”

Dean blinked. “Yes, I have,” he admitted. “Nothing that will hurt you or anyone else. It's deeply private, Cas. Privacy is new to me. You can't think I've had any before coming here. At all. Try not to resent me for it. That's alpha crap you're feeling right now.”

The look of dismay on Castiel's face made Dean instantly regret his choice of words, but he had to stand by them. He couldn't be the only one in their marriage constantly driven to question their dynamic. And, he needed to help Cas become the alpha he was meant to be. Castiel wouldn't turn into some brute on Dean's watch.

“Dean... Does it hurt you so much that I keep something from you?” Cas asked softly. “You were so easy about sharing your letters with me, before you knew I kept a secret.”

“No.” Dean shook his head. “Whatever you hide, it's enormous. It's safer to keep the secret than to let it out, or you wouldn't hide it in the first place. You are a man of plain facts, and plain dealing. I trust that your intentions are completely for the sake of good.” He got up and retrieved the book to put it away. “Crowley knows your secret. And, he's not telling me either. That only reinforces the importance.”

“How did you-?”

“I have eyes,” Dean said mildly. “I have ears. You two aren't as sneaky as you believe.” He winked at Cas to soften the blow of his words, and slid the book home. “Would you like some breakfast, my beautiful husband?”

Castiel _blushed_.

Dean watched, enchanted, as Castiel rubbed the back of his neck nervously. The alpha's face had pinked in at his throat, ears, and cheeks. Even his mouth looked brighter.

“I...” Castiel let out a short breath. “Yes?”

Dean nodded. “Here? Or, would you like to take it somewhere else?” The answer interested him, because the small surprise he'd planned for Castiel had been a little taxing.

Castiel licked his blood-brightened lips. “The dining room,” he answered.

Relieved, Dean nodded. “I asked Ellen to prepare something,” he admitted. “I've been up for a few hours. Time enough to read several things from several different books, to think about what I want to eat, and to ask Wilkes if he'd have a hot bath waiting on you after we ate. I expected you'd want to actually eat breakfast this morning.”

“...why?” Castiel asked, tilting his head.

“Because, last night was awful, and you'll need fuel today.” Dean got Castiel's usual work boots from the far corner, and brought then to within easy reach, setting them down. He chose a thick pair of woolen socks, and put them on the bed. “Outdoor clothing in mind, or indoor?”

“...outdoor,” Castiel answered. “We didn't get the chance to see your father yesterday.”

“I wouldn't have had the strength to deal with his unique stress even before the knot-head broke in here,” Dean said. “I've never fallen asleep in a bathtub. Yet, I did. I guess it was from playing ball with Venture and his parents.” He got extra thick woolen leggings from Castiel's bureau, and a pair of sturdy hemp trousers in beige. “Layer these?”

“Um.” Castiel looked at the items, and gave a short nod. “Playing ball?”

Dean grinned. “You didn't know Brave would play with a red rubber ball?” He got an undershirt and a dark brown knitted jersey, putting them with the other pieces of clothing. “Bobby apparently uses the thing to indulge younger horses in a sense of play. When he penned us all up together...” Dean paused to laugh a moment, because it had been cute to watch that enormous horse remember the ball and get excited over it.

“Cas, it was great,” Dean said, sitting beside the clothes and angling to face his conflicted master. “Bobby put Standing Tall, Venture, and Brave Soul into a paddock with me, and gave me a large, hard core rubber ball. He told me to have fun. I thought he was crazy. Play ball with horses?” Dean made a 'pshh' noise.

“But, Venture didn't trust the look of the ball, so I put it down to show it wouldn't move without help.” Again, Dean had to grin, because Brave had been the first to approach the ball. Big, alpha protector. “Brave comes over with the missus, and they look at the ball. Then, your big, bad, totally impressive horse, starts dancing in place and making these excited sounds.”

“He did?” Castiel asked, looking amazed.

“He did,” Dean confirmed. “It just fell into place as I watched him that he _remembered_ the ball. Bobby had given it to him when he was a colt, for play, and Brave had an excuse to play with it again, because he had a _child_.”

Castiel began to smile.

“Yeah,” Dean said, nodding and grinning. “All four of us spent at least an hour kicking the thing back and forth to each other. I couldn't keep up with horse legs, but they saw that, and in the interest of fun they started sending it to me more and more.” Dean chuckled. “We wore ourselves out. It was the _best_.”

The joyous light in Castiel's eyes made Dean glad he'd bothered to tell the story.

“Dean, that's...” Castiel looked up a moment before bringing his attention back down. “Just hearing this makes me feel better. It renews me.”

“Yeah.” Dean got up and began searching for Castiel's razor. He used a fireplace poker to snag the remains of the bell pull, and gave it a tug. “It was so much fun. Bobby said that people don't give animals enough credit. After we got tired, we all went back inside the stable, and Bobby gave me a basic lesson about horses. How to comb and brush, when to do it, and so forth. I wasn't afraid of your big horses anymore, either. I guess having play time with them really helped.”

A knock came at the door, and Alisha poked her head in. “Sirs?”

“We need hot water for shaving,” Dean informed. “Would you inform Ellen that we'll be entering the private dining room in about twenty minutes?”

“Yes, sir,” Alisha said, curtsying, and she left swiftly.

Dean went to put away his other book, the Bible. “I'll be right back,” he said. “I have to wash my hands.”

“All right,” Castiel replied.

Dean went to the closet and relieved himself, then washed his hands. He caught sight of his reflection, and thought that he looked healthier than he did yesterday. That was good. He'd need his strength. He had plots and plans to promote.

When Dean returned he saw Castiel had dressed himself, received the water, and was shaving. He leaned in the threshold, and crossed his arms over his chest, smiling a little.

Comeliest, kindest man, ever. And, he was all Dean's.

“I told your mother she had a handsome son,” Dean informed. “She took it for the personal compliment I intended. I'd gone to be with her to avoid the house noise while St. Addams servants quarreled with ours, and to work on the embroidery for my wedding obi.”

Castiel eyed Dean askance while attempting to shave off the hair above his lip in little, careful strokes. “My mother was forced to dangle my private parts in the faces of her social contacts for years in order to prove I was, indeed, male,” Castiel said. “Thankfully, once I hit my teenage years, there was no doubt as to my gender. I would not have cared to be female, you understand. That wouldn't have made a difference to me.”

“I believe you utterly,” Dean replied. “I think you would always have ended up the way you are right now, no matter what you did or didn't have to dangle, or, your sexual designation.”

Blinking, Castiel flicked his razor across the surface of the water in his washing bowl to free it of suds and whiskers. “Maybe,” he relented. “I wasn't joking when I said that I'd have liked being born a beta. Letting my bees feed me, and living wild in a forest.”

Dean chuckled. “You know, I'd like to see you that carefree. I really would, Cas.”

Castiel smiled briefly. He went on to clearing off the hair under his bottom lip. After that it was a simple matter for him to shave his jaws. Dean felt a little surprised at how much younger Cas looked with a completely naked face. And, he wondered why Cas had perpetual five o'clock shadow. A strange twist of how bodies were made, probably. Dean could shave if he wanted, but his beard would never go past thick stubble, ever.

A quick rinse and the application of witch hazel, had Castiel ready for breakfast. He descended with Dean to the family dining area. At Dean's couch, he hesitated, as if unsure where he stood now on the alpha and omega dynamics. His eyebrows questioning, one corner of his mouth very slightly draw up, his body jerked a few times very slightly as his judgment flip-flopped.

Dean held his hands up, and slowly gripped Cas'. “You're still my alpha, and my mate,” he reminded. “I need you.”

Cas shuddered a little, then relaxed. He lowered Dean to the omega settee, and then settled himself. He angled his chair so that they could be truly face to face, close enough for liquids.

Damn, Cas was beautiful. Dean admired him openly. Those clean jaws made him seem younger.

Serving maids entered the room with the first course of breakfast, putting down a single plate, cup, and setting of silverware. They were followed by the actual servers, who placed upon the table a platter with a highly domed lid. Usually, they would have whisked off the cover, ladled out the contents, and vanished. As per Dean's orders, they only left the moment the domed platter touched down to the lace tablecloth.

Castiel stared after them bemusedly. Then, he simply turned his attention to the silver salver. He uncovered the food.

Dean smiled as Castiel took in the sight of the vase full of lavender stalks, fully bloomed, and the cute little artificial bee on a wire, poised above. The small note affixed to the wire quivered with air movement.

Castiel tugged on the thread that kept the note in place, and opened the square fold. He read the note, and smiled gently.

Dean knew what the note said. He'd written it.

 _To every season there is a time. Spring is coming_.

Castiel tucked the note into a pocket and deliberately did not look at Dean. It was an acknowledgment, an agreement to play on Dean's terms, and Dean's heartbeat accelerated.

The fare was honey glazed ham. Castiel cut it into precise bites. He poured the honey sweetened milk, a smile flirting with his mouth. His movements precise, he took a swallow and held it, then bent to give Dean a drink.

Castiel's lips, the epitome of perfection, so soft and plush and tender, opened to let the milk, sweetened with the honey from his own house, flow into Dean.

As always, Dean loved the intimacy. Even as off balance and stressed as Cas had to feel right now, he defaulted to caring, to overt acts displaying the nicest parts of alpha behavior. But some things, like this, were just for Dean. No one else.

Dean grazed their contact afterward to show he understood. To show support, appreciation, attraction and loyalty. Cas would or wouldn't understand all of it, but he'd be strengthened just the same.

Castiel drew back. He let out an unsteady breath. His long fingers walked over his plate, and snagged a piece of ham. Slowly, he offered it to Dean.

Dean opened his mouth. Again, he was seized by the need to drag his teeth across Castiel's flesh, to _incite_ him. He didn't fall prey to his omega demands entirely, though. Instead of making such a display of want, he kissed the tips of Castiel's fingers even as the man drew away.

Castiel shivered.

The goal for Dean, here and now, was to show personalized interest as well as attraction. Because, Dean thought Castiel was worth getting to know. Fully.

“I dream about you, sometimes,” Dean said quietly. “Funny how you're pretty much the same in my dreams as you are when I'm awake. Sometimes, dreams are quite bizarre, but you aren't. I'm glad of that, too.”

“I'm strange enough in real life,” Castiel muttered. He gave Dean more ham.

“Say what you want, but I'm glad you're not ordinary.” Dean asked for the glass of honey milk with a fan so he could keep talking, expressing he needed to swallow quite a bit down. “I had plenty of ordinary at Sonny's, Cas. Chores and routine can be a comfort, but it's also nice to break up a schedule. The mind rots when confronted by the usual crap, day in and day out.”

Cas had no trouble listening to one message and viewing another, which filled Dean with satisfaction. A lot of people could not converse in this double manner. He drank all he wanted, said 'thank you' with his fan, and smiled.

Castiel smiled back, then let out a small chuckle. “You are such a trouble-maker. I had no idea what I was getting into, with you. But, my house is so much more alive, now.”

“Well, if you _must_ avoid living with your bees, in the woods, I can at least help you to enjoy the nicer parts of the duties that keep you rich.” Dean gave Castiel a playful grin.

Cas gave him more ham, and took a bite for himself. He picked up his bee bouquet, and studied the bee. “This is made of knotted lace,” he said. “The stinger is a rose thorn...” He gently touched a lavender blossom. “You went out to the greenhouses to get this?”

“I sent a maid,” Dean admitted. “I didn't have time to go myself. I got lucky, too. It's too early for your lavender to be blooming quite yet, but your plant guys had a special crop going to feed a particular hive that's kept inside.”

Castiel nodded, and the light in his eyes brightened. He liked the topic of his flowers and bees. And, Dean had known that. Hence, the bouquet.

“Church bees,” Castiel informed. “Thought to be extinct, but a farmer of my acquaintance noticed them in a ruined church on his section of my holdings, and carefully transferred them into a box to bring them here.”

“So, you're essentially breeding them?' Dean asked.

“I hope to keep increasing their numbers,” Castiel said, his face now relaxed. The enthusiasm he felt was quite plain to Dean. “They aren't aggressive to other bees, and seem even more social than bees usually are. If I can raise their population, they will be fed red clover pollen, mostly.”

“There must be many kinds of honey,” Dean mused, keeping the topic rolling. He'd been made aware early on that controlling a conversation had value.

“Oh, there are, Dean,” Castiel said quickly, nodding, and Dean found his passion so endearing and sweet. “I've been wanting to expand my production here at Tor-Valen. Buckwheat honey is very flavorful and dark, and would bring in more business. Jasmine and honeysuckle would fetch enormous revenue.”

Dean nodded. “You have buyers outside of Panomu, Cas?”

“Many,” Cas said. He touched the little lace bee, and smiled gently. “Mankind needs bees, Dean. We would not have any fruit or flowers without them. A miracle of the Holy Father...”

“And, we overlook them,” Dean surmised.

“We tend to,” Castiel agreed.

The next course came, and Dean smothered a smile at Castiel's curious expression.

“Is this cake?” Castiel picked up a gooey, syrup coated cherry, and put into his mouth.

“Honey cake,” Dean said, smiling. “Made with honey, flour, eggs, and ricotta cheese. The berries are just to round it off. I found the recipe in one of your books in Crowley's room. Word of advice. Don't sneak up on him in his room.”

Castiel smiled, and cut a small piece off, handing it down to Dean. “I will take that advice.”

Dean tried the cake, and groaned. “Wow. That's good.”

Castiel tried some, and closed his eyes. “You've found something else I'll eat,” he informed.

“Hm. I think I'll have to try it with a thick coating of Ellen's yogurt on top,” Dean replied. “Make this like a honey shortcake?”

“Sounds _delicious_.” Castiel fed them both at the same time, which made Dean laugh.

The honey cake vanished in short order. Breakfast over, they remained in the dining room, relaxing with full bellies. Dean played with flavor combinations in his head, and wondered if he could combine some of Castiel's other preferred foods with the honey cake. Pineapple would probably overwhelm...

“Dean...”

Dean swiftly brought his attention to Cas' face. “Yeah?”

“Thank you.” Castiel gave Dean the shyest little smile. “Breakfast has been an oasis. There are so many unpleasant things that I must deal with today, but this will sustain me throughout, I think.”

“I hope so,” Dean said.

 

(_________________________________________________________________)

 

Dean did not ask to accompany Castiel through his day, and after breakfast they parted ways. Dean decided to go to the greenhouses and explore at his leisure, because he'd noticed Castiel took the bee bouquet with him.

The tunnel system to get from the house to the greenhouses amazed Dean. It took twenty minutes to get from one end to the other, in an iron cart on rails that one propelled by pulling a hand crank up and down. There were no lights, and Dean thought it would terrify him if he got stuck down here. He promised himself that he'd take an oil lamp next time. And, when he finally did see light ahead, he slowed his action on the crank.

He'd done it exactly right. At a complete stop he was just four feet from a door. He knocked, and was asked his identity. A man quickly allowed him entrance, apologized for the delay and the inquiry, and told Dean he had freedom to explore where he pleased.

Through energetic work and cleverness, the people that ran these enormous houses of glass had perfected year-round fresh vegetables. They supplemented the light with intricate systems of lamps and mirrors and colored filters, kept the soil warm by growing things in elevated beds with hot coals a precise distance and depth underneath. Cranks and pulleys served to either raise or lower those beds, so the attendants could adjust to the strength of the hot coals.

Cas really knew what he was doing. Dean felt proud of his nature loving alpha.

Dean went to one of the flower houses and walked the rows, admiring all the exotic flora. An older, straight backed black man, tended some lilies at the rear of the greenhouse, and Dean found he wanted to talk. Because, the smell in here was astounding.

“Hello,” Dean said, and the man turned.

“Hello.” The man looked at Dean a moment before smiling slightly. “Hello, Mr. Novak,” he corrected.

“First time I've been called that,” Dean confessed. It felt weird. Good weird.

“You married him, you have his name,” the man said. “Mine is only Joshua.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Dean said politely. “I came over because I wanted to talk to the man who could make lilies grow in winter. It smells so good in here.”

“Well, my methods are a secret,” Joshua said, smiling again. “But, why don't you have a look and pick out a bouquet for your husband, hm?”

“It seems a shame to cut them,” Dean replied.

“The bulbs live on after the flower is cut,” Joshua said. “The flowers were put here by God for your enjoyment. To give you an appreciation of color, form, and scent. Don't refuse his gifts.”

Dean nodded. “Okay. When you put it that way, it seems crass if I don't.” He looked at the myriad of flowers, and sighed. “Well, I don't know what my husband likes, though. Any thoughts?”

“For the master of Tor-Valen, your choices are vast,” Joshua said, grinning. “He loves God's bounty. What message would you like to give him? Flowers have meanings, socially.”

“They do?” That was news to Dean. Well, he knew red roses meant love, of course. Or, at least passion.

“Yes.” Joshua beckoned Dean to follow him to a large potting table, where various vessels were stacked, along with vases and cutting tools. He pointed to a well used book. “You sit yourself there and explore what you might like to say to your husband. He may or may not know the language, but all that matters is that _you_ will know the message.”

So, Dean sat. And, read. He read for hours, amazed and interested, wondering how this secret way of communicating had come about, and how many people knew of it now.

A plan for his arrangement to Castiel formed slowly. Dean wanted grass for the base, because it meant submission. For, Castiel was the only one he would ever submit to. He would satisfy his omega imperatives that way, and he felt Castiel merited it.

From the grass, he wanted a white lily standing tall. That was the symbol of his purity. A ring of ivy, which meant fidelity, would brace the lily, but another ring made of wild grape, slightly bigger, would represent charity. If he could somehow get honeysuckle to wrap around the grape, it would add a message of devoted affection. Lastly, passion flower, which meant belief, would fill in the space between the grass and the rings.

The lily and passion flower would die, eventually, but maybe the other components could be persuaded to live through the winter and replanted somewhere.

“Come up with anything?” Joshua asked, returning to Dean.

Dean explained what he wanted, in detail, and Joshua listened intently. Then, Dean was led to a stack of wide vessels that were almost like cake pans. Directed to choose one, Dean opted for a simple, unglazed one made of muted red clay.

Joshua took Dean to a small patch of healthy looking, thickly gathered grass. He put Dean's shallow pot over the grass and pressed down. When he pulled back, the slightly bent shoots made the guide for cutting. Joshua used a sharp knife with a heavy spine to cut through the sod, working at a ninety degree angle to make the disk slanted for fitting the vessel exactly.

In silence, Joshua gently patted the circle of grass down into the chosen pot. He led Dean to the lilies, and asked him to choose one.

Dean looked for a bit before deciding on a smaller one. He wanted everything to scale. Joshua cut it and instantly transferred it to a bucket of water. He then directed Dean to the vines, and Dean was slightly surprised to see the wild grape and honeysuckle he needed.

This time, the plants were pulled up from the roots, and Joshua showed Dean how to root them. The small, ivy circle and larger, wild grape with honeysuckle looked good.

Joshua went to his work area, opened a drawer, and got out a very small bottle. He cut a place for it in the grass, and pushed it down. The lily went into this with a bit of water. “Now, for the passiflora,” Joshua said. “The sight of this flower might surprise you.”

When Dean stood before the patch of freaky flowers, he thought he must be dreaming. The things were just odd. Inside parts sticking up, a fan of small petals that looked like frizzy, bent wires, and outer petals spaced like a partially plucked daisy. The colors varied from purple to pink, magenta and indigo. And, the smell could have knocked him down. Sweet, cloying, and heavy.

“ _Mankind needs bees, Dean. We would not have any fruit or flowers without them. A miracle of the Holy Father...”_

“I have never seen a flower that says 'fuck me' to a bee, like this one,” Dean muttered. “I mean, this is the painted whore of the flower kingdom.”

Joshua threw his head back and laughed. “Dean,” he said, having to wipe the corner of one eye. “Choose a color.”

Dean picked a pretty, dusky pink.

Joshua uprooted this plant, too, and made a complicated weave with it's roots and the roots of all the others beneath the grass soil. He then went to a water pump and asked Dean to hold the disk of sod while he lined the bottom of the pot with tiny gravels, adding water. Gently, Dean put the grass back down.

“I think it looks okay,” Dean said. He set the thing down on Joshua's work table to stand back and admire it.

“I think you're desperate for Castiel's knot,” Joshua said, smirking, but not in a mean way.

Shocked, Dean stared at him. “Hey! This was made as a message of support!”

“Oh, I know,” Joshua assured him. He went to the living sculpture and pointed at the grass. “Submission. The basis of your message. You intend to only submit to your husband, which is good.” He next drew his pointing finger up the stem of the lily. “Purity. You have not yet been taken by him, and I don't listen to house gossip, but that must be because of the need for a good physician on hand.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed. “So far, so good. How is this me crying out for his knot?”

Joshua smiled. “You have made two rings here,” he said. “The first is ivy. Fidelity. The second is wild grape, which is charity. Around it, you have honeysuckle, devotion and affection.”

“Yeah, so?”

Joshua tsk-tsked. “Could you have represented your anus more accurately?” He asked, tracing the rings. “Smaller hole, dedicated to one partner, giving way to the larger hole, the tunnel of charity.” He then pointed at the passion flower, smiling. “ _I believe in you, I will only invite you in here_. Goodness, Dean, you even picked a passion flower the color of-.”

“I get it!” Dean shouted, because he suddenly just _did_. “Oh, shit! I can't give him this!”

“You can,” Joshua said, smiling once more. “Dean, he may or may not know your meaning, remember? Personally, I've never seen anything as perfect as this. All of your beautiful, sincere faith in him, turned into a carnal, three-dimensional figure... It's _magnificent_.”

“How did I do this?” Dean groaned. “I really wasn't thinking of... that.”

“You most certainly were,” Joshua chuckled. “Maybe not in your conscious mind, but subconsciously. You desire your husband very much. Only him. I assure you that no matter how he looks at this, or how much or how little Castiel knows, this will please him.”

Dean rubbed his temples. “Really?” He hadn't intended to give Castiel flower smut.

“Really.” Joshua smiled. “Take it to your room, and set it where he can easily look at it. Come back to me when your lily dies, and I'll replace it.”

“Okay.” Feeling very embarrassed, Dean picked up his plants. “So, what did my choice of pots mean, then?”

“You are humble, of honest stock, putting more value on the use of something than its beauty. Yet, you do love beauty, because you filled that simple clay pot with so much of it.” Joshua bowed to Dean. “You visit me whenever you want. I like you.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, blushing. “You're all right yourself.” He couldn't tell what designation Joshua was, not with all the smells, but he suspected the man might be an alpha. “See you around, okay?”

Joshua waved his goodbye, and Dean swiftly made his exit. He couldn't believe what his omega libido had done with the damned plants.

 

(_________________________________________________________________)

 

Dean sat at Castiel's desk. He'd begun his duty as Castiel's partner by trying to make sense of the intake and outtake at Tor-Valen. So much had to go in, so much had to go out. And, in just a few hours he'd learned a great deal about Castiel's sense of business. Mainly, that it was first rate.

The amount of food being consumed and grown here staggered Dean's mind. Castiel had hundreds of goats and pigs, but thousands of cattle. He had sheep. He had complicated coops for his chickens. A lot of his people kept pheasant and quail, kept a breeding program going for them. The lake, which by the estate map measured the equivalent of three hundred acres, yielded a surplus of fish whenever fish were called for. All in all, the animal life alone was daunting. Dean hadn't begun to think about the horses, mules, dogs and such.

Suddenly, Dean wanted to know how much of this had been the doing of the elder Novaks.

“ _Still, Castiel has managed to cause great prosperity in Tor-Valen. We'd written this estate off as a loss, and he insisted upon giving it a shot. And, what do you know? In five years he had people clamoring for the honey his special bees create. Enough so that he was able to staff the place and branch out his venues.”_

Naomi's words. And, Charlie said Castiel had taken Tor-Valen at twenty years of age. Castiel was but thirty, now.

If Dean wanted to know more about the extent of Castiel's work, he'd need to at least talk to Naomi. And, he would. But first, he'd go back to the greenhouse.

Damn. He'd hoped to let a few days go by, at least.

Once again, Dean would take the underground tunnel that went from the back of the kitchen's root cellar. The first time he'd learned of this covert way of traveling, he'd been flabbergasted. The maid had shown him how she intended to leave simply because she needed him to unlock the door for her return. And, Dean had gone about his business, returned, and only waited three or four minutes before she gave the coded knock.

Dean did not find a thing wrong with guarding the greenhouses. They were twice as valuable in the winter as in summer, too.

“I'll be gone about as long as you were this morning,” Dean told the maid. “Please don't forget me. I went alone earlier today, and ended up shouting until Ellen heard me, and she wouldn't have if the trap door in the kitchen hadn't been open.”

The maid, named Peri, grimaced. “Stuck in the iron dark,” she muttered. “I promise not to forget you, sir.”

“I have faith in you,” Dean said. He showed her his oil lamp. “I am _not_ going to freak out if that cart derails or something.”

“Oohh!” Peri gave Dean a look of pure fright. “Don't light it until you're five minutes from the house! There's a tunnel off-shooting from the left as you go out, and it's where Ellen grows all the scary mushrooms! Then, on the right of the tunnel, is where Master Novak stores the shivery stuff his ancestors collected. There's a ban on using the light, sir!”

“But, just at the initial part of the trip?” Dean asked for clarification.

Peri nodded. “We used to keep a lamp in the cart, and everyone knew when they could light it, and when they had to douse it. But, someone forgot a few years ago and hurt all of Ellen's mushrooms. She was so _mad_!”

Dean could well imagine how Ellen's wrath would scare the domestics. “When you say 'scary mushrooms'...?”

“I think all mushrooms are creepy,” Peri told him. “It's unnatural to eat something that only grows in the pitch black. I won't eat them. At all.”

“Okay.” Dean loved mushrooms. Some people didn't have their priorities straight. “How does she harvest them if she can't use any light?” He asked.

“She has a lantern with green glass shades,” Peri said. “Green light won't hurt them, she says.”

“Well, whatever,” Dean said. “Going now.”

“I'll let you back in, sir” Peri promised.

Dean was off. His curiosity flared at the idea of seeing the equivalent of a secret room under the house, but he resisted temptation. Not for anything would he ruin a mushroom crop. He held out on lighting the lamp entirely just for that, and was soon back at the greenhouse entrance. He knocked and announced himself, and the very same man let him inside.

“Did you forget something, sir?” He asked.

“I'd like to forget the trips back and forth,” Dean muttered, and the man smiled.

“Yes, it's terrifying,” he freely admitted. “Imagine what it's like to spend all day in such glorious light, surrounded by living things, and then to descend into that dark, sometimes seemingly endless tunnel. Even for twenty minutes or so, I find it panic inducing.”

“Right,” Dean said, grinning. “You want to go as fast as you can and get it over with, but your only clue is the light coming from the cracks in the doors. You screw up your slow-down and you hit the end of the rail. Hard.” He held his hand out to the beta. “What's your name?”

“Charles,” the man said, smiling. He shook Dean's hand carefully. “Joshua and I live in the greenhouses so that there's always someone to let people in and out. Please, no jokes about living in glass houses.”

“The fact you had to ask means I'd be a terrible person to even think about that.” Dean looked around and waved a hand. “I saw herbs here, and Joshua has the flowers. Who's in charge of the food crops?”

“That would be a joint responsibility. Anna and Rachel. They have workers, but they are the ones who ensure our food quality is high.” Charles shrugged and smiled at Dean. “If you have the time, go to the center of this complex. All the greenhouses are connected in a circular layout. The center is where Joshua and I make permanent camp. Every greenhouse has a door to that space.”

“Thanks. I'd be honored to see your home,” Dean said. “I can take a quick peek right now. I only came to get flowers for Madam Naomi.”

“Wise of you to get in good with your mother-in-law,” Charles commented, asking Dean to follow him with a hand wave.

Charles and Joshua occupied a large space, indeed. The metal framework of the greenhouses provided secure anchors for hammocks. They had two that were obviously meant for sleeping, and three that held supplies off the ground. Literally the ground. Lush grass. There were two enormous lemon trees, and other vegetation. It was like the perfect camping spot, all right, just surrounded by glass with a view on all sides to more plants. The air was warm and moist.

Stunned, Dean stood there, taking in all the simple beauty. “Charles, this is wonderful,” he whispered.

“Thank you. We don't cook very much, but as we're both vegetarians, it's not hard to eat.” Charles gave Dean a rather bashful look under his eyelashes. “The composting toilet is a natural solution. We have plenty of fresh water, and at night it's so quiet. If we want to we can lower blinds, even to the dome above us. Because every so often, we want to sleep late. We have help, so why not?”

“I agree completely.” Dean hardly ever slept in, but that was just his nature. “Is there anything you can think of to improve your living space?”

“Not really,” Charles said. “Joshua and I mostly work, and at night we talk. We're very close.”

“Good to have friends.” Dean backed out. “Thanks for the viewing. I do like your place.”

“That's nice of you. Might I suggest a bouquet of stargazer lilies and deep, pink roses? Those are her favorites, and what with the current situation at Tor-Valen, she'd appreciate those.”

Dean thought that sounded okay. But, he'd recently learned flowers were a way of communicating. “Stargazer lilies and deep pink roses have real meaning, Charles,” Dean said.

Charles grinned. “'Thank you for being in my life', and 'you are pure enough for the stars'.” He eyed Dean with humor. “What? So I fibbed about her preference. I doubt many alpha women receive flowers.”

 


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, guys for sticking with me. I read all your comments, but typing out replies is impossible right now. And, I see that most of you are picking up on the mystery that defines the Novak dynamic. There's a little violence in this chapter, okay? And, some sexy times, too. Thank you all so much. I'll try to deal with the artwork problem really soon. It would be a shame to not show it, because The Bails is amazing.

 

 

Dean knocked on the elder Novak's chamber door, nervous, but also happy to think about seeing Naomi. The enormous bouquet in his arms, two dozen roses and eighteen lilies, with a lower skirting of fern fronds, had been a nightmare to keep upright in the cart. He'd been running late, too, and though Peri didn't dare to scold him, she gave him the stink eye until Dean explained what had happened. After that, she'd warmed up and directed him to a storage of better vases. He'd ended up with a cut crystal, heavy vase with the Novak crest etched into it.

End result? No way to see ahead of himself, and an arrangement that weighed about seven pounds.

The door opened, and Dean had to shift the flowers and crane his neck to see who greeted him. It was Zachariah, and he was staring at the bouquet in shock.

“Hello,” Dean said. “Would it be possible to see Naomi?”

“Oh, of course!” Zachariah said, stepping back. “Can you breech the doorway with all that?”

“Maybe if I hold it ahead of me?” Dean pushed his arms out, and walked in with barely any trouble.

“Dear!” Zachariah called out. “Dean is here to see you!”

“Oh, I was hoping to see Dean soon!”

Again, Dean had to maneuver himself so he could look someone in the eyes. “Hello, Naomi,” he said, smiling.

“Dean!” Naomi's eyes and smile were in unison. “I'm so glad to see you up and about!” She gave the flowers a look of great approval. “Those are astonishing! Who are they for?”

“You,” Dean said. “Where shall I put them?”

Naomi gave a shocked little inhale, and Dean's heart fell. Had he committed a sin against polite society? Did alpha women really not get flowers? That was terrible.

“Oh, _Dean_ ,” Naomi said, putting a hand over her mouth for a moment. “T-thank you. Please, put them on the desk so that I may look at them while I read.”

Dean tried to catch Zachariah's eye, but the man was staring at the flowers.

Dean put the arrangement where directed, and stepped back. “Okay,” he said. “You can tell me if I just insulted you. I can see it's not done to give my mother-in-law flowers, or something.”

“No!” Naomi reached for Dean's arm, and gripped him with urgency. “No, Dean, no. I love them, I assure you. But, no one ever thinks to give dominant, alpha women flowers. I've had to settle with having them sewn onto my clothes, or jewelry fashioned in the shapes of blooms. And, I would _much_ rather have these precious flowers.”

“Good.” Dean held his arms out. “Might I get a hug? Cas isn't around, and I need one after the fourth terrifying trip though the greenhouse tunnel today.”

Naomi hugged him tightly while Zachariah broke free of his surprise to laugh at Dean's information.

“It's a dreadful trip, isn't it?” He agreed. “I hated that tunnel at first sight.”

Dean and Naomi broke apart, and the Novak matron directed Dean to a chair. “You look much better, I'm so happy. Still a little thin, though, sweetheart.” She went to her flowers and began stroking their petals, bending to savor the powerful fragrances. She looked very, very happy, and it made Dean feel wonderful.

“I'm eating as much as I can, and every day I can get more in my stomach.” Dean made eye contact with Zachariah. “When was that tunnel built?”

“Naomi's great, great, grandfather built this estate,” Zachariah said thoughtfully. “I came here for a harvest day as a boy... That must have been...”

“Five hundred and fifty-two A.C.” Naomi said.

“A.C.?” Dean asked.

“After Calamity,” Zachariah informed. “New era. Came after A.D. And B.C.”

“You have to understand, Dean, dear, that I didn't live here for very long,” Naomi said, toying with the edge of a lily, her face still enchanted. “I was sent to a female alpha boarding school at the age of eight, and Zach attended one for alpha males in Old American Brighton. During holidays I'd get to come home for huge harvest festivals, or Christmas, sometimes Easter, and this place would be overflowing with extended family. Cousins and their mates, children, friends of the family, you name it. If you want to know the history of Tor-Valen you'll have to go to the old library at the top of this wing.”

“I'll explore,” Dean said. “But, I'm so curious. When did you two decide to make honest alphas of each other?” He smiled at them both by turns. “You're such a great couple, and you had to have known of each other.”

Naomi blushed, and covered her mouth a moment, exchanging a sly look with a leering Zachariah. “Well, we had similar social paths, to begin with,” she said. “I was forever catching sight of him. He always had absolutely _hilarious_ knaves in his company.”

“I was always smitten,” Zachariah said. “But, Naomi wasn't in my immediate circle. She vanished for a long while, and I know now that was because she found her perfect, omega mate. When she returned to the family gatherings, our parents pondered linking us. Thankfully, we were more than compatible.”

Dean felt so stupid as the omega woman's name became apparent. Cassandra. Castiel. _Cas_. Naomi had indirectly, discretely, named her first born child after her long lost omega love.

“I waited the lawful two years before letting Naomi know how I felt about her,” Zachariah went on. “My mother fully endorsed the union, but her father was a stubborn arse. I had to prove I could take over _two_ empires in order to get permission to even court Naomi!”

“My father loved Southerby Estate,” Naomi told Dean. “It's an enormous pile of stone built prior to The Calamity, three day's sail once you reach the west coast. Zach and I live there now with Kevin, about four hundred other relatives, and their wives and husbands, mothers and fathers, and so forth. It's terribly loud, but there's always a baby to pick up or an elderly person to glean knowledge from, so I endure it. Mind you, I wasn't sorry to stay here for awhile longer, even under the threat of battle.”

“We have Michael on our side,” Dean reminded them.

Zachariah and Naomi stilled in the aftermath of Dean's claim. Then, Zachariah began to smile a little. “You believe that. I can hear it, see it.”

“Yes. I believe in Michael,” Dean answered. How could he not? The guy had saved his bacon a couple of times.

Naomi took a chair in front of Dean, and her husband followed suit. “Dean... Why do you believe?” She asked simply.

“I believed because Cas did,” Dean said, and he wasn't lying. “I believed because his parents did, and because there are a metric ton of Novaks who believe.”

They stared at him, and Dean saw joy in their eyes as well as a little shock.

“What's this about him carrying souls?” Dean asked. “What _is_ a soul?”

“It's you,” Naomi whispered, her eyes getting wet. “Who you are inside that body. All of you. Your holy creation. When your physical body dies, Dean, your soul lives on. You will never die, only change shape.”

“ _I see Bright-Soul all crumpled up, in agony, his arms and legs locked with his suffering,”_ Cas had ranted. 

“ _I slink off in a web of lies because I have to, because nobody can know, not even Bright-Soul.”_

_Bright-Soul has been taught his whole life to be a slave, and I can't correct it, because if I do, I hurt him!”_

Dean kept very still, his face a mask, and he understood that somehow, Cas could see into him. To his soul. Past his body and to his core.

“ _Castiel,” Naomi said. “You take Dean up to your bedroom and order a bath. Clean him, take care of him, and put him to bed. He's **dying**. I can feel his soul trying to break free. He can't give you children if he's dead.”_

Naomi hadn't said she could see his soul, but feel it.

Dean remembered the sensation of flying, of wanting to get rid of his hateful slave's body. That had been his soul tugging to get out.

“Is it possible to see my soul?” Dean asked.

“Some... people,” Zachariah said slowly, “are so attuned with nature and life force, that they can indeed see souls. I cannot.”

“I can't, either,” Naomi said, and both of them sounded so sorry for that deficit.

Dean believed them. And, wouldn't a person so attuned with nature and life be able to communicate with animals, like Cas? Birds landed on him, bees wouldn't sting him, dogs and cats obeyed his commands.

“So,” Dean said. “Michael personally carries souls to Heaven?” Dean remembered Michael telling him about a child's soul needing carrying to Heaven. “He's the Prince of Heaven and the Host, right?”

They nodded.

“Cas and I prayed to him together. He said Michael was an archangel. Top of the angel pecking order. I guess he'd have to be, considering protecting humanity is his job, as is delivering souls to Heaven, and kicking Lucifer's butt down again and again. He must be able to do billions of things at once.”

“It's certainly logical to assume,” Zachariah said, now smiling broadly. He lost his smile suddenly, though. “Castiel isn't influencing you to worship, is he?”

“No. If I ask him a question, he answers it. He's warned me not to suddenly choose his faith simply because I'm afraid to die, like my dad did. Dad's carrying a New Testament. I got a copy of the Bible from upstairs. So far, I've made my way through Genesis. I read it this morning. Twice. I don't understand it.”

“You would be remarkable in every way possible if you did,” Zachariah told him.

“The red Bible?” Naomi asked after a moment of quiet and reflection.

“Yeah.” Dean nodded. “It's written in English. And, it's not above my level, usually. It's the concepts I have trouble with. Why the hell would anyone listen to a _talking snake_? I'd have been a blur getting away from that.”

Zachariah was seized with laughter so hard he choked, and Dean didn't know why.

“I mean, I understand being tempted, but it wouldn't have been able to tempt _me_ , because I draw a line at talking snakes,” Dean went on, not understanding why Zachariah kept laughing. This was their family's religion he was asking about. Their _faith_. It was very serious. Why did Eve listen to a _snake_? “I would have just kept running no matter how it followed me.”

Naomi began to titter now, as if wanting to fully laugh, but not wanting to hurt Dean's feelings.

But, Dean's feeling _were_ starting to sting, now. Cas always spoke so soberly about God, and Michael, and Michael represented the Novaks. This humor was out of place. Were Cas' parents laughing at him? “I read it _very carefully_ ,” Dean protested. “Nowhere does it say that Eve and Adam were relaxing in the garden, talking to all the animals. So, that snake should have been scary as fuck.”

Now, they were both laughing fully, and Dean stood up. His guts twisted as if he had the snake in his belly instead of on his mind. He left the room, ignoring how Naomi called out to him, and, eyes tearing up, he went outside into the cold evening weather. There, he made a march to his boathouse, and he locked himself in.

Did they only care to treat him well when it was possible for him to step out of their legal contracts? Dean didn't want to believe that. Naomi and Zachariah had been so pleased Dean had found his father, so horrified during his reunion with Sam.

Maybe Dean was just so ignorant they couldn't help laughing. He should forgive them for that. He really was ignorant, after all. Raised away from decent education, trained to be some alpha's toy. He wasn't Naomi and Zachariah's peer. They'd been good to talk to him like he was, as he wanted it, on his terms. Hadn't Naomi treated him like a proper, cherished omega when he needed it? And, hadn't she adjusted for his new boldness?

He'd just stepped over a boundary, being ignorant. That was all. He'd wait awhile for things to cool down, then apologize to them for storming out.

(_________________________________________________________________)

In the end, Dean did not return to the house that evening, and no one came out to get him, either. He built a fire, got it very hot, and searched around for lack of anything better to do. He couldn't focus. This room was damned empty.

It was as Dean leaned on the mantle, staring at Cas' finger marks in the wood, when a profound sense of loneliness took him. He wished he could read Genesis again, and try to figure out what he'd missed. He shouldn't have taken his pathetic questions to Cas' parents. Cas, yeah. Cas would answer without making sport of his stupidity. Cas was so serious, so attuned to detail, and never laughed at Dean. He laughed _with_ him, instead.

Dean sat on the wicker couch and looked into the flames. A knock came at the door, and he cringed.

“Dean?” He heard his father's voice say softly. “I was ordered to never bother you if you were in here, so I'll go if you want, but...”

Dean got up, and let his father in. He shut the door, and showed him to the couch, his heart in turmoil.

John sat. He smelled of the outdoors, gun powder, and very slightly of indignation. There was something else, something Dean hadn't scented on his father since childhood. It was powerful, but trauma had disturbed the way his memories were filed during his younger years, and Dean couldn't quite understand the scent's meaning.

Dean sat beside his father and took out a fan. “Tongue-tied,” he said with effort. “Stress. Talking... hard.”

“You don't have to say a damn thing if you don't want to,” John said lowly. “But, I've got to tell you some stuff, okay? You can stop me at any time.”

Dean wanted to vomit. This sounded like bad news. Bad news, on top of being heart sick, wasn't something Dean wanted to deal with right now. But, he gave a sharp nod.

“I was in my parlor cleaning weapons when you delivered your flowers to Madam Novak,” John said. “My door was open, and so was hers. I heard what happened.”

Dean cringed down. Did his father think he was an idiot, too, now?

John got a water bottle out of his coat, and had a sip. “You know what, boy? I asked Pastor Jim the same damned question you asked the elder Novaks. I mean, a talking snake? In my experience, that's something to shoot in the face. I sure as shit would never have _chatted_ with the thing.”

Dean felt so much relief at hearing his father's confession. He started to tell him so with his fan, and quit, because his father didn't know the language.

John reached over and got the spare fan from Dean's clip. _Go ahead_ , he prompted, a little clumsily. _I read your husband's book_.

Astonished, Dean stared at John for a few seconds. Then, he slowly signed to him, _Dad?_

_I've been a bad father. The least I can do is learn your language_. John faltered a little bit on his flow, but otherwise wasn't doing badly. _Don't look at me like I'm something special. I have perfect recall. I only have to read something once and I'm good_.

_Me, too_ , Dean told him. _I must get that from you_.

“Sorry,” John said aloud. “It's a fucking curse, mostly.”

Dean had to agree it wasn't the best.

“Son, Castiel's parents...” John sighed. “They could have handled that better, yeah, but they weren't laughing at you. They were laughing because they'd never heard common sense applied to holy scripture. They've heard and read the holy word for so long they don't actually _see_ it anymore. Do you get me?”

Dean thought he did, but he still felt hurt. _I'm not ignorant_ , he protested. _I felt like a barking puppy or something_.

“Hey, even Pastor Jim, who is a really great guy, smiled a little when I brought the matter up to him,” John said.

_My husband wouldn't have laughed at me_ , Dean argued.

“Castiel hasn't had much to laugh about, not until you came into his life. I'd bet my best vamp machete on that.” John took another drink of water, and sighed again. “Can you imagine growing up knowing thousands of people with your last name are eventually going to call you the heir to the empire?”

“No,” Dean managed to say.

“Neither can I. And, from what I've heard and seen, his parents recently just stepped down, and basically handed Castiel the crown. Oh, it'll be a few years before your husband has to start controlling everything the way Zachariah and Naomi did, but the fact remains that those two just dumped a heap of stressful shit off their backs, and are _looking_ for something to laugh at.”

_Didn't have to be me_ , Dean said.

“You know exactly what I'm tellin' ya,” John said. “They were happy you'd started believing in St. Michael. I could tell. But, maybe it scared them that you were so faithful, so fast. And, maybe all that laughing helped them to get control of their fear. People do that.”

“I don't,” Dean whispered.

“That's my fault. Don't you claim otherwise.” John got a small bag from his coat and held it up to Dean. “Your lover's cashews are about the best things, ever. Have some. You missed dinner.”

Dean let his father pour nuts into his hands, and he began to eat them slowly even though he didn't want to.

“After you left, they felt pretty bad. I didn't feel sorry for them at first, because the lingering smell of your hurt made me want to go in there and slit their throats.” John munched a few cashews himself before shaking his head. “Turns out I wasn't tempted long. Castiel came in there hoping to find you, and when he heard what happened, he was...”

John paused to swallow. “Well. I've smelled many an angry alpha in my time, but _that_ was _frightful_. Worse, he didn't say but one damn thing before leaving them.”

Dean looked over at John. He nearly dreaded what he was about to hear.

“ _He brought you his_ _ **heart**_ _and you paid him with thoughtlessness_.” John intoned the words, nearly sounding like Cas for a moment. “He left, and I waited about a minute before catching up. I filled in some blanks for him. That woman butler came up and told him she'd seen you headed for the boat house, and she'd sent guards out to flank you. And, Castiel reminded me that this place was only for you, when you didn't want to see anyone.

“I tried to tell him you'd probably make an exception for him, but he said if you'd wanted him you'd have gone to the bedroom. Looked pretty upset, too.” John swallowed some more cashews and eyed Dean sideways. “That's some alpha you managed to snag. He's not going to break a rule if it means stepping on your toes. I have to admire that.”

Dean wondered if he'd really wanted to be alone that badly to sulk. He hadn't gone to the bedroom, after all. He'd gone to his own, special place, alone, while knowing it was dangerous to walk unaccompanied. Then, been even more hurt no one had come for him, and unaware of men standing in the cold to protect him in complete silence.

He felt like a child, now.

“I see that look,” John said softly. “Quit. It's no fault of your own you're learning social and romantic foul-ups at this age. You've been sequestered, and pigeon-holed, and probably brainwashed. I don't know. I'll never make up for that. But, I can help you now. It shocks me how well adjusted you are, actually.”

“I put on a good show,” Dean whispered from his newly unlocked throat.

“Huh. You get that from Mary. Once I start unraveling, I go from a sweater to a pile of string in short order.”

Dean couldn't help snorting at that. “Crowley would be more than happy to knit you back up into scarf, or something.”

“H-uh-oow!” John exclaimed. “Wait til you hear what that randy little tailor did to me yesterday!” He turned to face Dean, eyes indignant and dark, but also amused. “He ordered me up for a fitting of work clothes, knowing full well what I did for a living, and when I reported to his rooms, he greeted me with about fifty arcane tattoos shining like a black sun! I was so shocked at all that skin and black ink that I locked up!”

Dean giggled in a very unmanly way, and couldn't care.

“See?” John asked quietly, smiling, and not in a dickish way. “Laughter diffuses stuff.”

Dean suddenly felt so much better. So. Much. Better. He slung an arm around his father's shoulders, and leaned against him. “Thanks, Dad.”

“You're welcome. And, just for your information, that was a true story. Funny or not.”

(_________________________________________________________________)

John and six quiet guards escorted Dean back to the house after the general household slept. Dean softly went up the stairs, and stole into the bedroom he shared with Castiel.

Castiel was lying upon Dean's side of the bed, gripping Dean's pillow to his chest. The family distinction, bequeathed to Dean by Zachariah, was a weave of garnet and silver through the fingers of Castiel's right hand. His entire pose was that of someone who'd fretted themselves into exhausted sleep. But, the telling part was that Castiel had wallowed in Dean's scent for comfort.

Feeling guilty, Dean got his clothes off and put his fans on the bedside table. He lifted the covers, inserting himself between them and the mattress very slowly. As soon as his naked body touched Cas', Cas inhaled and shuddered.

“Dean.” Castiel's voice was low and pained. Sorrowing for Dean's sake.

“Cas.” Dean had a lump in his throat, now. He shouldn't have abandoned the manor. He should have gone to the bedroom and waited for his husband.

Castiel rolled and took Dean into his arms, pressing his mouth to Dean's cheek. “Dean, I'm _sorry_ ,” he said, his voice so _anguished_. “They should not have laughed. Your view wasn't anything but honest.”

“They didn't mean to hurt my feelings,” Dean said. “For some reason they were a little bit scared that I had faith in Michael, and my ignorance gave them an 'out' for being off balance. Dad talked to me about it.”

“He went to the boat-?”

“He's my _dad_ ,” Dean said, gentle but also firm. “He's not a villain, he's _broken_. But, he got some pieces together long enough to put some of my pieces back, too. And, while I'm at the subject, Cas, you are not _ever_ forbidden from the boat house. Not to approach it, anyway. Knock. I can't imagine not telling you to come in, but do knock.”

Cas' body gave a small quiver. “I hear,” he promised. “Thank you, Dean.” He gathered Dean closer, and let out a long, heavy breath against Dean's jaw.

“I'll go talk to your mom and dad in the morning, maybe,” Dean said. “We'll have a tearful, snot-spilling reconciliation. I'm sure of that. But, we'll be fine. Don't let it worry you any more tonight, Cas, okay?”

“You're here, so that's looking more possible by the second,” Cas told him. “I still want them to apologize to you, Dean.”

“They will, even if you aren't there to enforce it,” Dean replied. “No, I probably won't be going to them again with questions about the Bible, but I'm only a little hurt, now. I know what it is to screw up and be sorry for it. So do you.”

“Oh, I do,” Cas agreed heavily.

“There we go,” Dean said. “Now, if it's not too much to ask, I'd like you to pet my head until I fall asleep. It won't take too long, I assure you.”

Dean fell asleep with the feel of Castiel's long fingers stroking through his hair.

(_________________________________________________________________)

Dean awakened to the feel of Castiel's fingers, too. Long, strong fingers stroking down his back, coating him with a pleasing, scentless oil. Digging into his cramped muscles, soothing and inciting all at once.

“Oohhhhhhh,” Dean groaned as delightful pressure moved over his tired core muscles. “Caaasssss...”

“Your back, a mute testimonial to pain and bravery, to self-sacrifice and free will, is _beautiful_ ,” Castiel murmured. “You were correct, Dean.” He pushed against Dean's shoulder blades just right, and corrected a stress induced alignment problem Dean didn't even know he had until the 'pop' that brought, bright, sparking relief. “I awakened this morning, and looked at all your scars. And, even with seeing my own brand on your back, I took these marks as proof of how good, how _defiant_ you are. They stopped being loathsome.”

“Whatever you say,” Dean sighed. “The feel of your thighs clamping around mine from behind is just about torture, though. I say that, but don't you dare quit.”

Actually, it was worse than that. Cas' dick was too high up to feel, but his balls were resting against Dean's ass. Soft, a little downy, and _heavy_. His alpha's fertility, so close but not close enough. _Not_ working to fill him full, _not_ flexing upward in a spasm to give Dean a child.

Cas didn't cheapen the moment with talk, just kept on massaging all that was tight, cramped, or wrong in Dean's back. Dean turned into putty under those large hands. He had to work to keep from drooling. Stunned with pleasure, he rocked under every little bit of force applied to his skin.

Cas moved his attention to Dean's upward, outstretched arms. He caressed all the muscles slowly, in tandem, working from shoulder to wrist with blessed, agonizing sloth. Dean shivered when Cas gave in to his alpha nature, and pinned his wrists.

“Good,” Dean whispered. “I like that, Cas.” And, he did. The feel of Cas, his scent, made Dean want to lay quiet and just take him. “Get that big cock in the slot of my ass. Please, Cas?”

Breathing hitching, even faltering, Cas flexed his muscles. He twitched his hips backward, and Dean felt the searing, smooth silk of Cas' beautiful, thick cock nesting between his ass cheeks. He felt the soft pressure of Cas' balls just below his hole.

“Cas,” Dean said. “Please. Have me this way.” Even as he begged, he released a spurt of slick. The gorgeous ache of his omega gland spurred Dean on. “I need you to want me, Cas. This is how I'm made.”

“Dean,” Cas groaned. “I set out to soothe you, Dean!”

“Then soothe my libido,” Dean snarled, pushing upward. “You have _no_ idea how forgiving I've been with this 'no sex, no babies' thing!” He shoved again, a thrill running through him as Cas shuddered and moaned. “The least you can do is let me feel your dick sliding across my skin! I want to feel those gorgeous thighs striking me in rhythm!” He shoved a third time, the hardest yet. “I want pinned down, dominated, and owned, Cas! I want the hot splatter of your come hitting my spine!”

The sound Castiel made wasn't the slightest bit human. It was a deep, bone shaking growl of animal lust that made Dean feel faint. The smell of Cas made him crazy.

Dean gasped in astonishment, and, satisfaction, as he felt Cas wrench one of his arms back. Cas made Dean flatten his hand to Cas' dick.

“ _ **You push down**_ ,” Cas ordered, rough and rumbling. “You _feel_ me. You press me to your ass, Dean!”

Dean let out a choked sob. He did as ordered, feeling Cas sliding under his palm and fingers, and between his ass cheeks. Once, twice, Cas took his time aligning, but then, everything changed from hot need to mindless surrender.

Slide, slide, slide, pause and press. Cas' rhythm was about ownership. A lesson. Dean felt helpless, and he _loved_ it. He poured slick. His own cock, rubbed to fierce heat against the mattress, stood high and hard.

“I want to sink into you, Dean,” Cas growled, slamming his hips forward every half second, building up his force, but holding the tempo. “I want to be inside you so much. Twenty times a day, Dean!” He rained down a series of hip strikes that made Dean collapse, and kept going. “I want to feel you trapped on my knot. I want to bob you upon it and come until your pretty womb is full of me!”

“Cas!” Dean curled his fingers to tighten the contact, and instantly got the reward of Cas thrashing against him out of rhythm.

The entire world suspended on a breathless shock. Cas leaned over, hips and cock still pumping, and bit Dean. Right on the mating bite scars. Teeth slotting into the memory and deepening the impression.

Dean _wailed_. He came onto the bed even as his blood welled up and broke free. He sobbed at the hot spattering of Cas' seed falling onto his back and into his hair. He was marked, owned, claimed, and it was so fucking good he thought his heart would stop. Just the feel of Cas jerking, thrashing out of time, swollen cock between Dean's ass and palm, was perfection.

Cas collapsed upon Dean, his breath like smithy bellows.

Dean drifted in and out of awareness. He felt safe. He felt assured his mate wanted him, which soothed omega hunger.

Castiel eventually brought himself up and astride Dean's body once more, and Dean shuddered as he felt him take up the massage oil bottle. He dribbled oil onto Dean's spine, and slowly, lovingly, used it to rub his come into Dean's skin.

“I didn't intend to bite you.”

Dean smiled into his pillow. “If I could tattoo your teeth marks on there, I would.”

“I believe you. And, I'm sorry I haven't been paying you enough attention. Your bouquet to me was a clear message. Many clear messages. But, by the time I received it you had already fled the house.” Cas gathered up Dean's slick, and Dean could hear him rubbing it between his fingers, feeling it.

“Cas, what are you-?”

“I want to smell you on my skin all day,” Cas rumbled.

Disbelieving, Dean rolled his head around in time to see Cas coating his abdomen in lubricant.

Fuck, that was hot. If Dean had any strength he'd be hard all over again. “Do you have any idea how that looks to me?” He croaked.

“Do you have any idea how much I'd like to disobey my father, and plunge my cock into your ass repeatedly?” Cas parried.

A beat of silence as they looked at each other.

“Yes.” They both said at once.

Dean grinned and let his head drop down. “So, you liked your bouquet... I poured myself into how I feel about you, and then came to understand my subconscious didn't care about my lofty ideals. So, it was an accident, in a way. Yet, it wasn't.”

Cas chuckled. He got up and went to the arrangement, running a finger over the lily.

Dean got on his side so he could just watch Naked Cas. The man was made of beauty, head to feet. Hard, sculpted, muscles and tendons dancing under pale, perfect skin. Just the sight of Cas was assurance, and Dean filled with contentment.

Cas sniffed the air. His eyes slid their focus to Dean. “What did I do to make you feel so happy?” He asked.

“You exist,” Dean answered. “I'd gone so long without a mate, Cas. Omegas need a powerful mate, but they _want_ one that will be good to them.” He smiled, seeing he had Cas' perfect attention. “Aside from all that omega-to-alpha crap, I just really enjoy _you_. Finding you was like finding a pearl in a bucket of coal.”

Cas began to smile. He bent his head and chuckled, his neck going a little pink. “Dean,” he admonished.

“I know, I know,” Dean said, sighing dramatically. He rolled onto his back and threw an arm over his eyes. “No! Please, no compliments to the alpha!”

“I'm really not accustomed to them,” Cas defended mildly.

“No doubt. Because other alphas wouldn't dare go on at length about how awesome you are, and you're surrounded by servants who wouldn't say shit, either.” Dean got up and stretched, feeling good. Cas' massage had worked wonders on him, and the morning sex wasn't anything to decry, either. “Trust me. You're wonderful.”

Cas got some clothes, smiling. “Do you want breakfast, charming?”

“I think I'll skip it,” Dean said. “I have things to do. Which meal should we meet for?”

“Supper?”

“Fine by me.” Dean got up and grabbed a pair of trousers. “Time?”

“Six?”

“Also fine.” Dean put on a shirt and hooked his fans into his trouser band.

“Dean, you're bleeding into your shirt,” Cas said, pained.

“I don't give a flying fuck,” Dean told him. “In fact, I like it.”

Cas bit his lip, gave a short nod, and began tying his cravat. “Might I ask... What will you be doing and where?”

“Upstairs library, all day,” Dean said, deliberately not asking Cas the same questions. “Do I need a companion for your sense of ease?”

“No.” Cas finished his knot. “I do ask that you make certain all the windows are firmly locked, and, that once you're inside, you lock the door as well.” He ran a hand through his spiky hair, and Dean's belly clenched up at how ridiculous and cute that hair made him. “I'm taking a small group of men, and some carpenters, to various points on our living land. We're building towers. Vantage points.”

“So we can see if people are coming close to the house,” Dean surmised, happy Cas had volunteered information. “How are you going to get around that whole 'cover of night' problem?”

“I don't know,” Cas admitted.

Dean thought about that. “Talk to my dad. If he's a hunter of monsters, he knows how to lay traps. It should be simple for him to figure out the human equation.”

“That's an excellent idea,” Cas praised easily. “I need to speak to him anyway. He tried to correct my thinking, and I dismissed his insight.”

Dean smiled to himself. He leaned close to Cas and pressed his lips to his temple a moment. “See you this evening, beautiful.”

Cas stammered out an agreement, blushing again.

Dean grinned inwardly. _Wear your alpha down with compliments, kindness, and consideration_ , Sonny had once told him.

(_________________________________________________________________)

Dean made one detour, and that was for Crowley to cut his hair. The tailor, grumpy from having not yet succeeded in seducing John, made quick work of the task. And, when he showed Dean the results, it looked good. He could spike it up, or gel it down for an elegant side part if he wanted. He asked Crowley to do the side part, because it really did look classy.

After that, Dean entered the east wing. He didn't stop to see his father, or Cas' parents, because even though he understood, he still felt a little raw. He mounted the staircase and began climbing, going quietly. His habit of not wearing shoes made him stealthy, as Crowley had noted. And, yes, he was graceful, as his father had seen.

A little brass plaque labeled the library door. It was dull, and going green in places. Dean pushed open the door and stood in mute shock at the neglected, massive grandeur. This room was obviously the entirety of the upper east wing.

Dust stirred up the moment he stepped in. He put his sleeve over his nose and continued on, eying the hundreds of thousands of books. Leather bound, different shades, different sizes, crammed together or left atop study tables and desks.

It was as quiet as a tomb in here.

Dean looked for the bell pull, and spied at least four of them before the miasma blocked his vision. The dust motes shining in sun beams made him feel nauseated. No way would he be able to work in here until it was cleaned up. And, he'd need help. All these books needed wiped and conditioned, the shelves and flat surfaces polished, the walls wiped down and the floor scrubbed.

The bell pull broke off from the top the moment he tugged. Sighing, Dean waited to see if it had at least done its job before dying. Eventually he heard hasty feet, feminine in weight, advancing up the stairs. Alisha paused in the doorway, panting, and when she got a face full of dust, gagged.

“My apologies, sir!” She managed to hack out. “I had never heard that bell, and did not know from whence it came!”

“It's fine,” Dean assured. “Is there some reason this room isn't kept up?”

“The master of the house has read all the books,” Alisha explained. “He does his work at his bedroom desk. We only keep the room intact.”

“By ignoring it?” Dean rolled his eyes. “All right. Fine. From now on, this room is considered mine. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Alisha said quickly.

“I want you to get Charlie if she's not busy, and tell her to bring cleaning supplies up here, along with mink oil. Report to Crowley, and tell him to come here. He may not know the way, so tell him that, too. Also, wait for me to write a note, and have it sent to my husband.” Dean went to a nearby desk and got some paper, blowing the dust off of it. He grabbed a graphite stick instead of bothering with quill and ink, because those things were probably either dry rotted or utterly desiccated.

_Cas_ , Dean wrote in Arcalan Long-Character. _The library is a mess. I will need the doors and windows open. But, I am keeping Crowley in here with me at all times. If this isn't acceptable, fold this note in the opposite direction and have it sent back. If I get it like that I'll abandon my project until conditions meet your approval_. Dean folded the note in half and gave it to Alisha. “Someone from our household,” he said. “Not a St. Addams runner. Got it?”

Alisha curtsied. “I fully understand, sir. All will be as you ask.”

“Good.”

After Alisha left, Dean had only to wait about seven minutes before he heard the grumbling mutterings of Crowley coming up the stairs. The tailor gazed through the opened doorway, and his mouth dropped open.

“Great, galloping Fizban!” He shouted.

“I _know_ ,” Dean said. “I need you to stay in here with me today, Crowley. This place is far too valuable to leave in a wreck. You don't have to clean, but I need you here for my protection.”

Crowley rolled up his sleeves. “Start opening windows,” he ordered. “What a _disgrace_.”

Dean thought his note would have come back to him by now, if Cas had a problem, so he complied with Crowley's order.

They started getting air in. They opened all the doors that led to the hall. Charlie arrived with cleaning supplies, her shoulders slumped. “I was hoping you'd never discover this,” she confessed. “When I saw you could read, it worried me. Now, here I am, embarking upon a voyage on a sea of shite.”

Crowley glared at her before Dean could even open his mouth to sass her. “Leave the supplies,” he said. “Have someone back every hour to get our dirty cloths, and replace them with clean ones. Bring fresh hot water and oil soap each time, too.” He waved a hand in dismissal.

Charlie glared at Crowley. “If you want to talk to me that way, you have to make _me_ clothes, _too_. That's the only reason I'd tolerate your attitude.”

Crowley pressed his lips together. “A full wardrobe, and I can talk to you however I want? How mercenary of you. Fine.”

Charlie smiled sweetly at him. “You have to dress me like a queen even if you talk to me like a guttersnipe.”

“Fine, fine,” Crowley barked. “Get the supplies sent up here, you wispy little piece of baggage!”

Charlie gave Crowley a deep, mocking bow. She backed up and did it again, stepping into the hallway.

Dean fully appreciated Charlie's sass.

“Is all this ruination because few people know how to read?” Dean asked. “I can't believe Cas would let a library fall to ruin.”

“Maybe he's read every book,” Crowley muttered, backing up Alisha's claim to Dean. “Stand out in the hall for a moment, Dean. I can get all the dust out of here at once, but not the grime. Sadly, that will be up to us and old fashioned elbow grease.”

Dean did go out into the hall, but he had no intention of turning his back if Crowley meant to do magic. Witchcraft. Whatever.

Crowley walked to the very center of the room, closed his eyes and held his arms up, palms out. And, he began muttering something. It was lyrical, rhyming, but not in a language Dean knew. And, it was actually beautiful, especially because Crowley had a great, rumbling voice.

Dean felt energy moving. It pulled at his body, even to the fine hairs on his nape. It was like Crowley had become an air magnet, gathering the wind. A small, powerful cyclone formed around him, and though it began to suck up dust, it didn't pull on books and papers, or even the drapes. No, just the dust. And, it was so thick now that Dean couldn't see Crowley anymore, just the blinding white of specks in sunlight.

BANG! The cyclone exploded in a jet of green fire. All the motion died that second. And Dean, who had flinched back at the noise and light, straightened up to see Crowley covering a lazy yawn with the back of his hand.

Dean reentered. “How come you don't use that to clean up the mess of fabric in your room, slob?” He asked, all gruff, but the power display had thrilled him.

“Controlled chaos, not a mess,” Crowley corrected. “We should do this in stages, systematically, don't you think?”

“You're thinking walls first?”

“Yes. Always take the filth downward.” Crowley went to a bell pull. It, too, broke off. Cursing, he dropped the rope.

As Dean stood there, considering, Alisha returned. She looked out of breath.

“Alisha, darling,” Crowley said, smiling. “Do we have hard working, efficient, trustworthy parlor maids?”

“Five that I would trust with any job, and to be discrete,” she answered.

“Good. Get them up here to clean out all these fireplaces. I assume we have at least a few people that can sweep the chimneys?” Crowley paused. “No, never mind that last one. The roof is too dangerous to climb on with all this snow. But, I want wood stacked in here, both sides of each fireplace, tall as I am. Tell the trusted house maids that this room is not ignorable, but _do_ stress that it's a private room, and to be treated like a bedroom.”

“I understand,” Alisha said. “As far as the chimney's concern you, Mr. Crowley, do not fuss yourself. They are maintained fully.”

“Good.” Crowley nodded. “Because the lower fireplaces are attached to the same chimneys as these, I expect.”

“Yes, Mr. Crowley,” Alisha said, nodding.

As Alisha left, Crowley pointed Dean to a chair. “Sit down. As soon as these disgusting fireplaces are cleaned out we can actually get to work.”

“Why are you so harsh to Charlie, and not Alisha?” Dean asked. “Charlie's good people.”

“Charlie sneaks into my room to touch the velvet and silk. She tries to neaten up my system. It's nerve-wracking to watch for her. I don't know how she keeps getting in, either.” Crowley frowned and crossed his arms. “I always sleep better when she's off on a trip to see that hoyden at Carrington Hall.”

“Ruby,” Dean remembered. “How far do they have to travel to see each other?”

“It's a day trip, buttercup. Carrington Hall is on Novak land. Ruby is one of many domestics employed by the Carringtons. Underhanded lot, they are.” Crowley rubbed a hand across his eyes, as if tired. “Having a shop in town, I got to hear all kinds of gossip and information. The Carrington's are haughty, old money.”

“Are they dangerous?” Dean asked.

“Darling, everyone is dangerous when something they love is threatened. Rich people...” Crowley paused to make a face so disdainful and scathing that Dean felt a moment's disquiet. “Rich people love power more than anything. I'm sure the Carrington's deeply resent they have to pay the Novak family rent on their own ancestral estate.”

“It would be going to Naomi and Zachariah, though? The rent?” Dean asked.

“Yes. Your stud wouldn't have anything to do with that.” Crowley gave Dean a long, lingering look, then, one weighted with importance. “Yet,” he added. “The power transfer between the elder Novaks and Castiel will be slow, but probably steady.”

And, Dean would be a part of all that. Cas' second. A huge responsibility, to be sure.

When the maids were finished, Dean and Crowley cleaned the ceiling. It took five hours even though they worked hard, and neither of them were exactly satisfied. But, to solve that, they put in an order to the staff to get fresh paint, tarps, and a crew organized. They spent the rest of the day covering shelves and the floor, and even the windows.

“Crowley, I need a bath if I'm going to eat with Cas in an hour,” Dean groaned. “I'm filthy. I have cobwebs in my hair.”

“I know a quick remedy. Follow me.”

Dean had to do a hard walk through the house to keep up with Crowley. Once they were out on the grounds, Crowley briskly jogged toward the laundry house. He told the five people in there to scram, and not very kindly.

Dean thought he might be one of the few people Crowley didn't talk down to.

“In we go,” Crowley said, pointing to a steaming vat of clean water. “I see we have clean clothes, too. Strip and get to it. You're right. We're disgusting.”

Dean didn't need more encouragement. He got naked, and submerged. Crowley joined him, and for a while they just sat.

“M' tired,” Dean complained.

“Me, too,” Crowley muttered. “Hand me the soap.”

Dean grabbed a jar of soap slivers, and floated it over to him. “I was too repulsed by the dirt to even look at the books.”

“Yes. I didn't bother. We'll have plenty of time to do an inventory, what with having to individually wipe every last one.” Crowley began to soap up.

Dean heard footsteps crunching in the snow. “Did you lock the-?”

The door slammed open, revealing three alphas dressed for long walking in bad weather. Before Dean could even curse himself for _yet again_ getting vulnerable in a bath without his fans handy, all three men were jerked inside by some invisible force. The door shut and audibly locked.

Crowley stood up and grabbed a towel. “Do you know these men, Dean?” He asked calmly. “They were evidently watching for you to leave the house...”

“You shut your mouth, omega-!”

Crowley waved a hand, and the alphas slammed back to the wall. They struggled and fought, but couldn't budge an inch. It was as if their backs were glued to the stones. “Rinse off, Dean,” he said. “Get some clothes.” His soft, gentle words were a command, but not an urgent one.

Still, Dean scrambled to obey. He slid in a puddle, and had to fight for his balance. Quickly, he grabbed a pair of trousers from the pile of clean, dried laundry. They were actually his own. He found a shirt, one of Cas', and draped it over himself. Lastly, he got his fans.

“What sorcery is this?” One of the alphas gasped out, writhing as if he couldn't breathe.

“The pissed off kind,” Crowley snapped. “Dean, stick your head out the window. How does the place look? Anyone unusual sneaking about?”

There was no sign of life on the grounds, just smoke from chimneys in the manor, and from the cabins. “I don't see anyone,” Dean said. “That can't be right.”

“Oh, well, I suppose I'll have to do this the brutal way.” Crowley pointed his finger at the men, waving it back and forth as if choosing one. He clenched his fingers, and one man jerked. Dean heard his neck break, and, to his horror, the man's spine ripped completely free of his body, right through his clothing.

The man dropped at the same time as his vertebral column.

“Oh, _shit_!” One of the alphas said as the other one keened in horror.

Dean desperately fought to keep his stomach where it ought to be. Burned into his brain forever, the sight and sound of glistening spinal cord snapping, bones falling upon pristine limestone blocks.

“Are there any more of you?” Crowley asked casually. “First one to tell is the last one to die.”

“It's just us!” The dark haired one blurted out. “We were sent to get Novak's omega!”

“By...?” Crowley sing-songed, lifting his eyebrows.

“Julian Wexley!” The blond shouted.

“That's the guy who sent someone to get me in Cas' bedroom,” Dean told Crowley. He felt queasy, and couldn't quit looking at the wet, shining mess on the floor despite that. Spots danced before his eyes. His mouth watered so badly he had to turn his head and spit.

“And who is this Julian Wexley when he's at home?” Crowley asked.

“He's the new alpha leader in town,” the blond explained.

“Voted in, or self-appointed?” Crowley asked.

The blond stammered.

Crowley pointed at him, and he _melted_. Just flowed into goo and a pile of bones, random organs, eyeballs floating and looking upward in a flesh puddle.

Dean surrendered to sickness. He turned, bent over, and vomited.

“Self-appointed!” The remaining alpha screamed. “He came to a town meeting, told all of us that we needed to take care of Novak. Because Novak's turning the rabble against us!” He babbled, spewed the information. “He said the way to do that was to kidnap his omega! Bring him to Julian, and hold him hostage. Get Novak's compliance!”

“I see.” Crowley ran a finger over his lip thoughtfully. “Any of you protest?”

“The elders did,” the man said swiftly. “All the ones in the law offices, the wise men, and the Alpha Counsel. Fifty men in all!”

“All right.” Crowley looked over at Dean. “Find something to tie him with. We have to deliver him to Castiel, now.”

Dean searched, found a spare belt that had been removed in preparation to wash a pair of trousers. “Will this work?” He felt weak and shaky.

“Of course,” Crowley said. “Because, if he even twitches wrong, I'm going to turn him into a pig and carve him alive.” He began to dress himself.

Dean tied the man's hands together. It took effort, because he was shaking.

“Sorry to expose you to my bad side, darling,” Crowley apologized to Dean. “More than anything, I hate having a bath interrupted.”

Crowley's casual attitude made the alpha lose what little color he had left.

“Behind me, Dean,” Crowley said. “Alpha home wrecker in front.”

They left the laundry room. Dean heard the latch shut from the inside. Crowley didn't want anyone to go in and find the mess, apparently.

Now that they were outside, servants began gathering, and no one had to say a word or even ponder the importance of a foreign, tied up alpha. People began pelting him with rocks, jeering.

“See how you stirred up the crowd, alpha?” Crowley said, humming in satisfaction as a rock tore into the flesh of the man's temple. He shouted into the throng, “Someone get the master of the house!”

“Novak's going to kill me,” the alpha moaned, blood dripping into his eyes as he got shoved and punched.

Dean reminded himself that this one was the most aggressive when bursting into the laundry house. He knew the guy would have handed him over to Julian Wexley. He no doubt would have stood back and let Dean get molested, or, killed.

“You'd better pray that he does,” Crowley told the man. “Because, if he hands you back over to me, I'm testing poisons on you. Titled, self-important, rich alpha! Keeping people eating dirt, and using them for your pleasure! You make me sick!” Crowley turned and spat. “How many poor people have you let die so you could eat off of china plates, and wipe your ass with velvet?”

No answer. To Dean that served as an answer by itself. And, Dean didn't know what kind of history Crowley had, but he evidently knew exactly what it was to live in poverty and fear, exploited.

Suddenly, Crowley's fast friendship made a lot more sense. He'd done Dean a good turn, and Dean had very quickly taken Crowley out of all chance of dying in the gutter. Given him gold, the promise of secure work, and a warm home. Crowley probably had lived in his shop to protect it.

Crowley forced the alpha up the porch steps, and through the back door of the kitchen. Ignoring all the surprise inside, he pushed the man into the servant's dining area, shoving him down to the floor. “Dean, get Castiel's parents.”

Dean quickly accessed the east wing. “Master Zachariah and Madam Naomi!” He called out.

Their chamber door opened, and they came out at once. “Dean,” Naomi said, gearing up for addressing their unfortunate, recent misunderstanding. And, the scent of stargazers hit Dean in the face.

Dean grabbed the wall, and swallowed back sickness. Apparently he'd never be able to smell stargazers again without feeling hurt. “Crowley and I were attacked in the laundry house,” he said, forcing the words out through a clenched jaw. “Crowley has one of the men in the servant's dining. Someone's gone for Castiel.”

“Are you hurt?” Naomi asked as Zachariah ran the way Dean had come.

“Nauseated,” Dean admitted. “Will you go to the private dining area and stay in there with me?”

“Of course, dear,” she agreed swiftly.

Dean staggered his way to the room, and once there he dropped to his feeding couch and shut his eyes. “I beg you for some water,” he whispered. His stomach, sickened by Crowley's brutality, didn't like the cloying, sweet scent clinging to Naomi.

“This moment,” Naomi told him. She rang the pull. A servant came and left, then, returned. Dean felt the rim of a cold glass touching his mouth, and he drank eagerly. The water was iced. Dean appreciated that. He felt Naomi's fingers gently carding through his hair. Gladly, he let go of his lingering resentment.

Wearily, Dean unhooked a fan and told Naomi he understood she hadn't meant to hurt his feelings.

“You can forgive me, and I thank you,” she murmured. “But, Zach and I cannot forgive ourselves. We hurt you deeply, and we never wanted to do that.”

“You're not by yourselves with that whole hurting people thing. Try to forget about it.” Dean drank down the rest of the water. “I'm going to fan talk for awhile, now,” he warned.

“Whatever soothes you, dear,” Naomi said.

Dean fell into a stupor. The room was quiet and shadowy. Naomi had a servant come in to make a fire, and Dean heard her asking about matters. She was informed that the master of the house had arrived, and was dealing with the 'townie scum'.

Dean didn't want to know.

An hour passed. Dean's empty stomach began to rumble. Naomi ordered a chicken stock soup and wheat crackers to be brought in, with wine and poached fish. Dean knew it was for him, but he wasn't sure he could eat.

_Go and see what's happening_ , Dean told her. _You can assign your husband to my_ _care._

“Are you certain? He's been reading the fan book Castiel brought back from your omega house, but he's honestly quite terrible,” Naomi said.

Dean smiled even though tired and sick. _We'll be fine_ , he said.  _Your son will need his mother's words_.

“None of us deserve you,” Naomi declared, and quit the room.

Two minutes ticked by. Zachariah entered, sighed, and took Castiel's usual spot at the table. “I had no idea you'd already fended off one attack,” he said. “Castiel was keeping it quiet, for some reason, and no one breathed a word.”

Dean cracked open an eyelid. He found himself able to talk, after all. “You have held two mighty empires of the same family together for decades,” Dean said. “You've kept separate factions in contact with one another. You've built a force that stands practically alone against the Maholak menace, holding ground.” Dean looked into Zachariah's pale blue eyes, and held them. “You love your family deeply.”

“I do.” Zachariah tilted his head at Dean in much the same way that Cas did. Curious. Considering. Open.

“You gave me knowledge of Michael with a necklace. With the family crest,” Dean said. “You asked me not to wear the necklace unless I understood what it meant. Well, I still don't.”

“And, you never will, if you depend upon me or my wife for information,” Zachariah said darkly, self-chastising.

“You laughed because I'd scared you,” Dean said.

Zachariah looked at him wide eyed.

Dean smiled. He was so tired. “I get it,” he said. “I come from a heathen background. My faith in Michael was of place, too soon, or the faith of someone who didn't understand what Michael represented at all.”

Zachariah let out a breath and nodded, his head sinking low. “I'm sorry, Dean.”

“Don't be. I do understand.” Dean waved some air on his face, suddenly feeling hot and nauseated again. “You venerate him. With good reason.”

Dean suddenly realized why he felt bad. It wasn't just the horror of the evening. He was going into heat. Crowley hadn't dosed him lately, and he'd gotten married. Cas had bit him this morning, and it had helped stave it off awhile.

“Zachariah? Would you mind escorting me to the boat house?” Dean asked. “And, to order a bathtub, towels, and some bedding delivered?”

“Yes, of course.” Zachariah got up. Dean saw the understanding dawning in his eyes a second later. “Oh, Dean. What a time for you to go through that.”

“Yeah. Needless to say, Crowley is my best companion during this.” Dean got up, and found he couldn't fucking walk. Perfect. “He can keep Cas away from me, I think.”

“All right.” Zachariah paused to look at Dean. “I... Are you able to walk?”

“No.”

Zachariah sighed. “I can carry you, if you trust me.”

“I trust you,” Dean told him.

 


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys. Still kicking. Thank you all for your kind wishes and commentary. They have helped me so much. Like, maybe you can't really know how much. Typing is painful as sh*t, so it's slow going. I know I'm lagging, but I promise I have not stopped with the story.

Dean knew Crowley was with him, but only sporadically. In and out of awareness, Dean writhed in sweat and slick. He ached. He couldn't think. He couldn't eat. Crowley forced him to drink water, and some kind of nasty, hot infusion tasting worse than bitter. The former allowed his body to make all the slick it wanted, and the latter cut down on the muscle spasms.

Dean bloodied his knees, elbows and palms with the continual attempt to get on all fours. His mouth tasted of copper. Over and over, Crowley put him in a tub of cool water. He told Dean it was good to suffer through this heat, because one couldn’t continually suppress their cycle.

Dean barely cared at this point.

When the delirium came, Dean felt deeply thankful. It meant he wouldn't have the sense to know he was suffering. He lost great chunks of time in a fever dream.

One morning, Dean opened his eyes and felt that his heat was over. He looked around the room, spying Crowley dozing on the wicker couch. The cloying smell of died slick and sweat made Dean sick. “How long?” He croaked out.

Crowley awakened, and gave Dean a tired grin. “Six days. I'll bet you're starving, buttercup.”

“I am.” He sat up. Oh, he was sore. The thick cushions and blankets he'd wallowed on were a sloppy mess.

“Let's get you a bath, and then I'll give the signal for Castiel to come and get you,” Crowley said.

And so, Dean had another cool bath. This one he could enjoy for reasons other than it alleviating that burning from the inside out. He was as weak as a kitten, and had to let Crowley do the actual soaping and rinsing.

“You're a great friend,” Dean whispered.

Crowley gave him a bow. He helped Dean get out, and dried him off. He even put his clothes on him, a white silk gown of double layers, with a thick robe. He gave Dean his fans, telling him to stay put on the sofa before sticking his head out the door.

Dean heard him talking to someone, but didn't ask. Honestly, he felt he might pass out, food or not. He hadn't been strong enough to deal with a hard heat.

It seemed he blinked before feeling Cas' arms going underneath him. Oh, he was a comfort to scent, to feel. Shelter from everything. Even the way he moved made Dean feel better. Because, Dean weighed nothing to Cas, and Cas walked with perfect grace.

Up a small set of stairs. Had to be the back of the kitchen. Spices. Yeah, kitchen. Cool, interior hall. More stairs. Bedroom. Bed.

Limp, Dean rested. So sore. Wrung out.

“You probably could care less, Dean, but you are so very... _moving_... right now,” Cas said. “Pliant, your throat bared, smelling of faded heat...”

 _A thing to protect_ , Dean thought. Cas' alpha nature got off on ideas of what could have been. Seeing Dean as he would look after days of being fucked and knotted. Exhausted, reliant upon his alpha. Open and needing. Very possibly pregnant.

Cas removed Dean's fans from his hands, and put them on the bed. “What an exotic, rare being I have, sharing my life,” Cas murmured lowly. “I think you can hear me, Dean, even if you can't respond.”

Dean managed, with effort, to twitch his left index finger.

“I thought so.” Cas wiped Dean's forehead with a cool cloth, ridding him of fresh after-heat sweat. “I have to get some small amount of nutrition in you tonight. You're very depleted.” He rid Dean of the robe, then the gown, and Dean's skin prickled at the feeling of Cas' eyes lingering.

“Oh, your poor knees,” Cas said quietly. “Elbows, hands... That was so hard on you.”

Yes, actually.

Cas cleaned his wounds, binding them gently. He dressed Dean in lightweight silk trousers, and placed him in what felt like his dining couch. But, that was downstairs. No... This thing had a lot more padding. It felt good. Dean gathered up enough energy to loll upon it, to drag his cheek down thick velvet that smelled of Cas' favorite incense.

Cas' breathing halted. Then, it continued rather unsteadily. “You like it.”

Dean smiled with great, great effort.

“It's the couch I commissioned for this bedroom,” Cas said. “Blonde cherry with green velvet upholstery.”

 _Matching it to my hair and eyes, Cas?_ Dean thought, amused and flattered. That was romantic. It gave Dean so much hope.

Dean fell into a hard drift for awhile, resting. When he awakened it was because a cold spoon was touching his lower lip. He obeyed that silent command to open up, and got a delicious, sweet taste of chilled cherry puree. Oh, with pineapple. “Mmmm...”

“Fruit will be good for you,” Cas informed. “Natural sugars, easy to digest, and full of vitamins. I'd feed it to you by mouth, but you'd lose the delight of it being so very cold and granular.”

Dean stayed silent, accepting all Cas offered.

“The alpha in me wants you to be resting and amenable for the reason that I've knotted you, and that you're carrying my child,” Cas said. “I'm not prone to huge flights of fantasy, so this frightens me on several different levels. The first one being that it actually terrifies me to think you could be pregnant, because pregnancy is dangerous...”

 _And, you think you're a monster_ , Dean thought.

“ _My son has always been on the outside looking in. He's never been ordinary.” Zachariah swept snow off the lowest beam so they could sit on it and look toward the lake, which was steadily freezing over. “The way he's acting right now tells me he never expected to sire children, and that it's just now sinking in that his amazing omega, soon to be his husband, is going to need them. He's frightened he'll put a monster in your belly, Dean.”_

“I'm glad you're patient with me,” Cas went on. “I don't know where my head is, with you.” He picked Dean up, and put him in bed. “I'll sleep with you a few hours, then wake you up for more food.”

Dean couldn't roll to meet Cas' body, but it didn't matter. Cas held him in his arms.

(_________________________________________________________________)

During the night, Dean got a nice, warmed serving of honey cake. Later, Cas awakened him for a drink made of blackberry juice and Ellen's yogurt. As cold, grey dawn lit up the sky, Cas served him vanilla ice cream and hot chocolate. That actually enervated him a bit.

“You still smell like something I should lick from head to toe,” Cas said, fidgeting with the cup. “I can't imagine what the full force of your heat would have done to me. Crowley put up some kind of sound and scent barrier around the boat house.”

Dean blinked sleepily. “You'd... have done more... than lick,” Dean forced out, smiling.

Cas snorted. “Maybe. Probably.”

Smirking, Dean shut his eyes. “Leaving... me?”

“I don't want to, but I must. Crowley will be staying with you. He has no problem acting as your caretaker. In fact, he prefers looking after you himself as opposed to me.”

“Cas...” Dean swallowed dryly, and Castiel offered him a drink of water. “Did you get... the laundry house...?”

“I cleaned it up,” Cas answered in a grim tone. “Witnessing that must have been a gruesome experience, Dean.”

“Don't... fuck with... Crowley...”

“Indeed,” Cas agreed. “You realize he felt his hand was being forced, though? He had to make an example of the trespassers to the one he left alive. It loosened the man's tongue. Crowley didn't have time to waste. Other invaders could have been getting in as he stood there.”

“I know.” Dean forced himself to sit up. He wouldn't get his strength back babying himself. “Be careful out there, Cas. Promise.”

“I promise.” Cas ran his hand through Dean's hair, slow and gentle. “I like your new style, Dean.”

“Thanks.” Dean gave Cas a weary smile. “You c'n send that slob in, now.”

“I'll have you know, I cleaned my room.” Crowley breezed in the open door, and began setting down an armload of books one by one onto Castiel's desk. “You can thank _me_ for his haircut, stud. Be sure you lock us in good.”

“Yes, Crowley,” Castiel said, smiling a little. He picked up his cloak and left, locking the door after himself.

“Now, buttercup,” Crowley said, taking a book and getting on the bed beside of Dean. “We're utterly alone, and there's been something on my mind.”

“W' sat?” Dean drawled, letting his head drop back to the bed's headboard.

“You didn't draw power from me, or your pets, at the bonding ceremony.”

Dean blinked. For some reason he felt reluctant to share his experience with anyone, but he thought it would be fine if he let Crowley in on it. He felt leery of speaking out loud about it. He groped for a fan, found it, and signed. _Can you understand me?_

Crowley picked up the other fan. _Flower, of course I can. It was the first thing I did, learning this language. I'm an omega, too, remember?_

_Not all omegas learn._

_Not all omegas have sense._

Dean grinned wearily. _Okay. This is a secret, you understand? No one else is to know. No one._

Crowley nodded. _I can keep a secret._

 _I know you can, because you and my husband have one,_ Dean signed. _But, that's fine. Really. I don't mind. I can tell it's for my safety. I don't have to poke at it._

Crowley rubbed his eyes as if tired. He let out a long breath. “Yes,” he said aloud.

Dean smiled. “Look at me.”

When Crowley did as Dean said, Dean slowly retrieved the Novak family heirloom necklace from the bed post, showing it to him. “Zachariah gave me this.” He brought his fan up. _It's a family inheritance. He made me very curious about it._

 _It's a tool for praying,_ Crowley explained. _I can show you how to use it._

_I'd like that._ Dean rubbed his thumb over the centerpiece. “This is Michael.”

“The archangel,” Crowley said as if expecting that. “God's biggest weapon.”

Smiling, Dean let Crowley hold the piece.  _My husband's whole family worships him. He shows up a lot in their possessions. And, my husband was so serious about him when I asked, so full of faith. I believed because **he** believed. And, when my strength failed at the bonding ceremony, I called out to him._

Crowley looked at him soberly. “That was only natural. And, praying gave you strength? It can do that.”

_No. I was demanding. I didn't understand why he wouldn't answer me. I mean, I was becoming a Novak, and he should have been paying attention, I thought._

_Because the Novaks admire him, you thought it should go two ways?_ Crowley shook his head. _Not usually how it works, sunshine._

 _I gather that, now._ Dean took the prayer beads back, and hung them in their usual place. He was so tired, and all this arm movement took a toll. _Anyhow, he answered me personally. He gave me the strength to stand up and make my vows. I've talked to him a few times, now._

Crowley's eyes went large and frightened. His breathing faltered. “Dean?” He quickly brought the fan up. _**You met -? You spoke -?**_ His fan movements were wild, translating as shouting.

_He's nice,_ Dean said. _He calls me 'Precious Child', or 'Child of Adam'. Sometimes only 'Child'._

_**He's a bloody weapon of!** _ Crowley stopped thrashing his arms, whispering “Heaven” out loud. **_How did you get his attention?_ **

_Cursing,_ Dean admitted _,_ embarrassed.  _I said some bad stuff_ .

Crowley made a noise of pure fear, a low, almost inaudible keening.  _He didn't- “_ smite _” you! He **helped** you!_

_He was a little amused by the whole thing,_ Dean told Crowley.  _But, I talk to him when I want to, and when I need him, he comes. He was the reason I could whip that alpha that broke in here_ . 

_How?_ Crowley demanded.  _How did he help you?_

_I guess the best explanation is that he poured himself into me,_ Dean said.  _He's like raw force and cold fire. But, he's so patient and gentle with me._

Crowley stared at him wildly, his mouth moving and nothing coming out for at least half a minute. “Dean _,_ ” _\- that would have_ _ **killed**_ _anyone else_ , he said. _Ordinary human beings can't contain the power of an angel, much less the biggest one!_ Dean knew the word angel because Crowley made the sign of wings, twice, motioning toward his own back.

 _What does that mean?_ Dean asked _._

 _In order to talk and walk among men, angels have to enter a human body, otherwise they make people's eyeballs melt right out of their heads,_ Crowley said. _It's like containing the biggest lightning storm on earth to try and hold an angel inside you, and you're telling me you easily swallowed down_ _ **the mightiest of all**_ _?_

 _He wouldn't hurt me,_ Dean reprimanded _. He cares about me and my husband, his family, other people, too. I can feel it._

_I believe you._ Crowley covered his face with one hand, and shuddered. “Buttercup, this is one hell of a secret,” he whispered. “I'll keep it. Pain of death, I swear.”

“Thanks,” Dean whispered back.

(_________________________________________________________________)

Over the course of a week, Dean steadily improved. He took his meals with Cas once a day randomly, because Cas was very busy getting watch towers built, and plans made. The governor sent the Novak family word that some of the rouge town alphas had been rounded up, but that many escaped the net. And, among them, Julian Wexley.

January and February passed. There was no ice skating on the lake, as Dean had once hoped to see and do. No laughing servants gathered around contained fires drinking spiced cider. The entire household suffered under the severe strain of constantly watching out for the enemy. But, Dean suffered for not having his husband around more than a few, random hours a day.

Dean told himself to stop being a child. Cas relied upon him as a partner, and the Novak family did, too. So, he practiced with his bow, and filled in his hours with purposeful work.

Meg became Dean's greatest resource for understanding the budget. They began having breakfast together in the kitchen, papers and ledgers spread around them, sharing an inkwell. And, Meg patiently, thoroughly, taught Dean how Tor-Valen generated and directed income.

Dean and the blacksmith got together at the middle of March. Dean wanted fans made for people, and anyone interested was encouraged to join him in a class of instruction. Some people, like Ellen, who were used to lifting and carrying heavy things, excelled at swinging the canvas and iron constructions. Some, aware this was their only legal weapon when off the estate, worked extra hard to learn.

April dawned with Dean showing just under a hundred omegas how to maim and kill, and defend themselves. He was exhausted from it, honestly, working from sun up to sun down every day but Sunday. It had to be worth it, though. He told himself that every night, as Cas had to keep awaking him for a bite or two of food.

“Any news about your brother?” Dean asked, lying back on his feeding couch and staring up at Cas sleepily. They'd mostly finished the meal, but every so often Cas would press a confection at him. Some kind of cake with sweet icing. It went well with the black tea that Cas insisted he drink from the cup just to make sure a lot went into him.

“Samandriel is alive and well,” Cas reported. “The town alphas don't know he's my brother, and no one is volunteering that. Many, many of the town's poor people are living in the cathedral now, because the wind still has a bite, and many of them have died.” Cas made him drink more tea.

“I wish we could save them all,” Dean said.

“I do, too,” Cas told him quietly.

Dean wished he knew whether or not Michael had finished kicking Lucifer's ass back down to the pit. He prayed to him many times a day, always finishing with the same thing. _Just letting you know what's going on. Hope you're okay. Say hello to God for me_. But, as he lay upon that couch, getting the occasional bite of sweet stuff, this time he added something else. _I wish I could pray to Cas the way I pray to you, Michael. It would come in handy. If I ever got into trouble with no way out, I could just pray_.

 _ **Precious Child**_ , Michael said. _**Why don't you try?**_

Michael said nothing else.

Dean went rigid, and sucked in a breath. His vision tunneled. Facts, words, happenings tumbled through his head and _aligned_.

“Dean? Dean!” Castiel was suddenly looming over Dean, eyes full of fear. Dean stared at him, panting, wondering _how_ he could be so stupid.

Cas' strength. Cas' tendency to view himself as inhuman. The secret that he didn't want to keep from Dean, and the fear involved with it.

“ _Such an_ _ **angel**_ _, Castiel,”_ Naomi had said. _“An angel is a messenger of God, a servant of great power, a dispatcher of God's justice and wrath. They are beautiful without exception.”_

“ _My son thinks he's going to put a monster in your belly.”_ Zachariah had said.

“Dean? What's wrong? Dean!” Cas took Dean by the shoulders, and leaned in. “Heavenly Father, Dean! I can't help you if-!”

All that talk about Dean having a bright light, a bright soul.

Cas could see Dean's soul.

It wasn't a matter of being a special person. It was a matter of being an _angel_. Naomi and Zachariah had been throwing out clues for months. Months and months they'd been telling him what Castiel was, without being direct.

Dean made himself move. He grabbed Cas' wrist and held on.

“ _Dean, you should know that both of my parents are Novaks. My mother is my father's fifth cousin. I'm inbred.”_

“ _Can't argue with it with you as the example,” Dean joked. “Seriously, though?”_

“ _Yes.” Castiel lowered his hand to look at him. “Often, the only way two mated alphas can have children at all is when selectively inbreeding. That is why a quality omega was so important to my parents, for me. Fresh blood untouched by the name Novak. On the plus side...”_

“ _What?” Dean asked when Castiel didn't finish._

“ _Well...” Castiel moved his lips with an emphatic little 'smack'. “I'm not tooting my own horn, but facts are facts. My bloodline could produce splendid offspring, but not with a Novak. I had to be paired with an omega. It couldn't be done another way.”_

_Dean slowly smiled. “We haven't even tied the knot, or your knot, and I'm totally the savior of the Novak line, aren't I?”_

Shit. Cas' parents weren't angels. They weren't as potent as Cas. What, then? Part angels? Mongrel angels having children?

_Dean smiled down. “I was so surprised at how easily you hauled me up to sit on your horse,” he confessed. “I'm not exactly light.”_

“ _You don't weigh a thing to me,” Castiel told him, unsmiling. “I could hold you in my arms for days. Weeks, even. Samandriel knows of my strength, and it eats him up.” He held his arms out. “Jump, Dean.”_

And,

“ _Goddamn it, Castiel!”_

“ _Minus fifteen points for blasphemy,” Castiel amended, still looking at Dean with admiring eyes. “Your total is now at forty-five. Remember what I said would happen if you got down to zero?”_

_Samandriel went quiet. Then, as Dean stared at Castiel's beautiful lips, he heard the boy say, “I'm sorry.”_

“ _Plus five,” Castiel said. “I'll make it five more if you apologize to the one you slandered. I'll know it if you pretend.”_

_Dean began to feel a little awkward._

_Castiel, perhaps reading that on his face, rolled off of Dean and lay beside him on his back. He took his hand, though, and just held it. “I'm lying to him,” Castiel whispered in Dean's ear. “I can't sense prayers directed to God.”_

And,

“ _Your servants were evil,” Castiel told Samandriel. “You knew they were. You even threatened to use them against me.”_

“ _I wouldn't have let them really hurt you,” Samandriel protested._

“ _Samandriel, don't insult me with lies,” Castiel replied._

“ _Well, you were going to cut my fingers off!” Samandriel blurted. “I'm not like you, Castiel, I can't heal-.”_

“ _Dre,” Castiel said sharply. “This isn't about power. This is about the abuse of power, which you have a history with. You need to funnel your nature into reputable pursuits and stop looking at what you don't have. Look at what you do have.” He cast his brother a glance. “List five things you're grateful for. Go on.”_

Samandriel wasn't an angel. He was jealous of Cas. Somehow, Samandriel hadn't gotten the angelic heritage.

“Dean, please speak to me!” Cas begged.

“ _You can wait a year or two for the first child,” Zachariah said. “By then, Dean, he may not feel so much fear. He came down to see me and his mother last night, and poured out to us his frantic mind. The last thing he wants to do is disappoint you, and when you spoke of children together, all his internalized worrying finally touched down. He couldn't avoid his conflicting urges anymore.”_

And,

“ _And, again, Bright-Soul forgives,” Cas gasped out. “Because, he is righteous, and good and human in a way I'll never be. I gain hope, and I think perhaps I can keep from hurting him again._

“ _But, he wants children, and I...” Cas reeled in place, his eyes shutting. “If I give Bright-Soul the knot his omega body wants, I might... No, I would. I'm fertile, too fertile. He'd be with child the moment I released into him.” He shook his head violently, almost falling. “My child would kill him. He's not strong enough. He could never be strong enough! I'm a monster!”_

Dean wrapped his arms around Cas' middle and held on tight, hearing Cas gasp out in relief.

Cas was kind, caring, and loved Dean as a human being so much that he'd let him die if he wanted to. _Respecting his right to choose_. Cas, defending Dean's right to slip off into eternal night no matter how it would hurt anyone else, even himself, because he believed Dean knew what was best for Dean.

Dean figured that every time he'd dreamed of Cas, somehow, Cas was really there with him. Checking on him. Worried. Staying close so Dean wouldn't die _alone_.

Dean swelled with love for Cas. It filled him completely, spreading to all the cracks, coating his broken parts, healing him in ways he didn't even know he was damaged. And, that love spilled out to wash Cas.

Cas could feel what Dean felt. Dean knew it. He knew it because _every time_ he had a freak out, Cas reacted exactly like this.

“Dean... Oh...” Cas gave a broken little sob, holding Dean tight. “By the Father, this is-!” He choked, and buried his face in Dean's hair. “What is this, Dean? It's _wonderful_! You're so _bright_! The brightest thing in the cosmos!”

Dean chuckled, and squeezed him again. He simply didn't have enough energy to start this big and inevitable conversation. He hated that, but facts were facts. “Tell you tomorrow. I'm too tired to stay awake, even with this big thing going on. I mean, I'm literally about to pass out.”

“Do you want me to carry you?” Cas asked quickly.

“Yes, by all means, do,” Dean said.

Dean liked this feeling of floating twice over. In Cas' arms, and, in the love he felt for the secret angel. He kept his eyes on Cas' face, seeing Cas was smiling, looking mystified.

“Dean, I don't want to let go of you,” Cas said as they got in the bedroom. “I've never felt you like this. Even your scent is perfect.”

“Don't let go of me, then,” Dean said. “We're not gonna get spanked if we flop down on the bed in our clothes.”

“True.” Cas sat down and just continued to hold Dean and look at him. And, Cas' face was the last thing Dean saw before he fell asleep.

(_________________________________________________________________)

Dean woke up before Cas. He lay there on his back a few minutes, basking in the feeling of knowing what love was. He'd always felt attracted to Cas, from the very first second. Then, admiration had arrived. Cas was _good_ , and hadn't assumed Dean was worthless because of his designation. It hadn't taken very long for Dean to feel Cas was his friend. Then, Cas became his lover.

And, now, Dean loved Castiel Novak. He didn't care what Cas was physically, because he'd seen enough to know him as kind, patient, and compassionate. Exactly what Dean had never believed he'd get in an alpha.

Wow.

How was this his life?

“Oh, Dean,” Cas groaned. He rolled onto his side to look at Dean. “You still... Oh, the _scent_ of you...” Cas very nearly sounded pained, but Dean heard the pleasure.

Dean got on his side, too. He reached out and ran a finger down Cas' shirt buttons, slowly and playfully. “Good morning.”

The look on Cas' face... Wonder, enjoyment, even awe. His blue eyes were so big right now.

Dean loved those eyes. Beautiful. So beautiful.

Dean threw a leg over Cas, and mounted him. Cas stared up at him, still awed. Dean gently touched hands to either side of his face. Then, he leaned down and gave Cas a light, soft kiss. Right on those perfect lips. “You should have a kiss every morning,” he said.

“I would like that,” Castiel said, a little shyness in his eyes. “Dean...? What beautiful thing is filling you? It chases away the shadows, even in my own heart.”

“I love you,” Dean confessed, low and quiet, his heart filling up all over again just saying it out loud. “That's what you're feeling from me. It's good, isn't it?”

Oh, the shock. Cas' face went slack with it, mouth opening, eyes going even bigger. Impossibly so. Cas had never had human, romantic love before, evidently. That was a _terrible_ shame, considering he was so very worthy of love. Still, Dean wasn't sorry he got to be the first person to say it to him like this. “Just enjoy it, Cas,” Dean advised, smiling down at him.

“I... I do! I am!” Castiel said swiftly, his eyes going wet. His lips trembled. In fact, his whole body shook with minor tremors. “What did I _do_ , Dean?” He asked, more pleading than anything else. “What caused this? How did I gain your _love_?”

Dean kept their eye contact. He knew he was about to blow Castiel away, and he couldn't help that. Stuff needed out in the open between them. Secrets were bad between lovers. Cas didn't like his secret, anyway. It kept him isolated from people. And, they could never have a real marriage unless Cas knew Dean would stand by him through everything.

 _I pray to the angel Castiel_ , Dean prayed in his mind, watching Castiel's eyes grow larger with utter astonishment. _I want him to know he gave me the most meaningful present I've ever received. He loved me enough to let me die if I wanted to, and he visited me so that I wouldn't be alone if I did choose death_. _No one has ever given me that dignity before_.

“Dean,” Castiel groaned long and low, drawing out Dean's name. He looked heartbroken, now, devastated. Brows all drawn up, tears threatening to spill over, and shaking harder than ever. “How did you know, Dean?” He asked, barely audible.

“I don't forget anything, Cas,” Dean reminded. He'd hold off on Michael for a minute or two to let Cas get one shock over with. “I've been around, seen things, heard things, and facts just added up. You can't talk to a guy about how bright his soul is without him taking notice.” He smiled gently. “You can't walk in and out of his dreams casually.” He leaned down to kiss Cas' astonished lips again. “Thank you for not freaking out over losing your big, important secret. I'm guessing it has something to do with your wings. Maybe molt?”

Castiel nodded slowly. He let out a shuddering breath, deflating. “Dean, don't you _care_ what I am?” He whispered, the smell of him tangled up in confusion, dread, and failure.

Dean had to shut that defeat down, fast, whatever the cause of it. “No. I _know_ what you are. You were an angel to me _before_ I understood you were an angel.” That was the truth, too.

“But, Dean, our children,” Castiel protested. “You want children _so much_ , and they'll be nephilim, like my parents and my brother! Like my entire family!”

Cas was _worried_ about this. How much pressure had been put on him because he was actually a full angel when the rest of his kin were not? “You have a wonderful family,” Dean pointed out. “Why would I care if my kids had some angel in them?” Dean smiled. “They won't hurt me, Cas. I promise.”

“You can't promise me that!” Castiel shut his eyes and shivered violently. He reeked of terror, now, and Dean finally got some clue as to the great, staggering amount of stress Cas had been carrying around. Day after day, moment to moment, having _this_ looming in his horizon. Walking toward it step by step with no way to get off the path.

No wonder Cas fractured at times. Holding all this fear back would cripple an ordinary person. And, even an angel would have a breaking point.

“Just carrying them is dangerous!” Cas went on, his breathing hitching with the effort to not shatter apart. “The strength of my genetics inside of your fragile, human womb?” Now, Cas did sob, a miserable and grieving little punch-out of sound. “A child growing larger and larger, straining against you for freedom! All my life I've known that eventually I might have to kill an omega just to carry on the family line! And, then, then-!”

Castiel shook his head violently, as if his own thoughts were so bad he couldn't stand them. “Then, it was _you_ , Dean! It was real! And, you're so beautiful, and righteous, and _precious_! How could I _do_ it? How could I risk _you_?”

Castiel went still, tears just streaming from his eyes. “You wanted them _so much_ ,” he whispered, and Dean knew he meant the children. Those pretty blue eyes were dull with pain and dread. “And, all my life I've carried this secret. I never had relations with anyone that could bear children. I couldn't _stand_ it if I killed...”

Dean's heart broke. Cas, probably born fully cognizant of how special he was, had been raised to inherit a massive empire. First born son, expected to be a success, to keep the family line going. Pressured by his family all the time to produce heirs. They'd even arranged it so everything and anything attached to the Novak name would dissolve if Castiel didn't marry.

Thirty years of feeling like a freak, because he'd been born different, always staying emotionally and physically distant for fear of hurting an innocent.

_Five more drinks and five more kisses. Dean felt Castiel's gratitude and caring like worship. “The thing is,” he said when Cas put the cup down. “What I thought was alpha appreciation? Was Castiel thinking he's some kind of a beast, and being grateful a human being wanted to know him.”_

Thirty years of being molded, and corrected, and pushed. So, Cas gave in, at last. He hadn't been able to take it anymore. He'd sent Meg to get the big, troublemaker omega, most likely because he wanted an omega that would stand the most chance of surviving. Even intended to never bed him, if he could get away with it, because that was risky.

“ _Castiel gets Dean, and Dean isn't interested in keeping the arrangement uncomplicated. Dean starts asking for things Castiel's never been asked for. And Castiel is off balance at first, just from newness. But, he rallies.”_

“ _Yes,” Cas agreed, now sounding very nervous. Dean still hadn't opened his eyes, not once._

“ _Castiel discovers he is actually an alpha. He can't keep his nature buried because Dean keeps wanting more intimacy. And that intimacy feels good.”_

Dean looked down at his wrecked husband, feeling _sick_. All this time, Cas had been trying to protect Dean from himself while being sorely tempted to let his alpha nature go and just claim Dean. Take him, knot him, fill him up and make children.

“ _The alpha in me wants you to be resting and amenable for the reason that I've knotted you, and that you're carrying my child,” Cas said. “I'm not prone to huge flights of fantasy, so this frightens me on several different levels. The first one being that it actually terrifies me to think you could be pregnant, because pregnancy is dangerous...”_

Dean had never really known what sacrifice was until this exact moment.

 _ **He was looking at it**_.

Castiel Novak was sacrifice down to his soul. He'd given up his life to what his parents wanted, dropped his love of art, taken this estate and made it into a success. And with that success, took in the underprivileged and oppressed, the poor and the weak. He fed and protected his people, sparing no effort or expense. And, all the while, dealing with his mother and father trying to push him into making babies he was terrified to even attempt.

And then, Dean came. And, Dean tore down Castiel's emotional walls. Dean asked for what scared Castiel the most.

Dean slowly slid from Cas' shaking body, and lined himself up with him. He slid his arm under Cas' head, and pulled him close.

Cas clutched to Dean's shirt, and pushed his face to Dean's neck, shuddering.

“Sshhhh,” Dean soothed. “It's all right, Cas. It's going to be all right. I wouldn't lie to you.”

“Dean,” Cas managed to choke out.

“It's okay, it's okay,” Dean murmured, getting his other arm around him. If he could rock Cas like a baby, he would. He wanted to tell his secret, too, now, because it would help Cas to know Michael wouldn't let him die in childbirth. But, Cas couldn't take another shock. Not right now. No, he had to drain out all this grief.

Fuck's sake, Cas had been holding back this breakdown his entire life.

It was time for Dean to be Cas' strength and healing, for a change. To be his protection. Cas was his husband, his _mate_. And, Dean loved him.

 


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I may have to edit this a few more times. Thanks of being kind and patient.
> 
> To all of you lovely, beautiful, caring people, I just want to say a few   
> things. The talk to text thing is not going to work for me for a lot of   
> reasons. I was raised to write either by hand, or with an honest-to-f*ck   
> Remmington, ribbon-fed typewriter. I don't think fast enough for the new   
> stuff.   
> I am deeply appreciative that you are all so supportive, that you're   
> trying to help. I can't get over how nice you all are in giving advice   
> and options. You guys are great. But, without my hands to hit keys, my   
> mojo is toast. I just have to do less, and delay the output. I'm so, so   
> sorry about that.  
> Also, I am not glossing over your comments. I treasure all your words. I   
> really, really do. I'm flattered you like this work. I love to write,   
> and I love to please, so, all your feedback, big or small, just serves to   
> help me continue even though it's getting pretty damn hard to keep going.

Cas slept exactly like what he was, a wounded animal. Dean had never in his life seen a grief so profound that it marked a sleeping face. But, there it was. Cas' eyelids were squeezed shut, not resting, the eyes underneath rolling back and forth. Brows furrowed, Castiel ground his teeth together so hard Dean could hear it. And, Cas had a death grip on Dean, clutched him to himself as if Dean would save his life.

Dean would do just that. Any time, every time, all the time.

Dean stroked Cas' hair and brow, sang little songs of comfort to him. He kissed the wrinkle between Castiel's eyebrows until it relented and smoothed out. Seeing that worked, Dean skimmed his lips over Cas' restless eyelids. He did it regularly, every two minutes, relentless without being overwhelming. Gradually, Cas stopped rolling his eyes around. He relaxed. His fingers went slack in Dean's shirt.

Now, Dean could rock him. It wouldn't be nearly as effective as he'd like, because Cas was pretty much the same size as him, but he'd do what he could. He sat up, sat Castiel up, and got behind him, putting him in a firm hug. Only small movements, back and forth, but in perfect time. Cas needed that rhythm to let go of his pain.

Cas made a whimpering sound that cut Dean into pieces. The movement was translating within him as caring, because his mother had once rocked him. This was proof enough of that.

“ _I hope it doesn't put you off that the master is emotional,” Ellen said, not looking at Dean. “It's not my place to talk about why he's like that, but I'm sure you can guess.”_

“ _ **Everyone** is the way they are because of their parents,” Dean replied. “I'm glad he has Meg. He knew what he was doing, putting her in charge.”_

Dean knew Naomi loved Castiel, but she and Zachariah would be spoken to by Dean. In private.

First chance.

Dean hummed one of his own mother's lullabies, over and over, feeling Cas loosen up by degrees. Before an hour had passed, Cas was deeply asleep. And, not that wretched sleep, either.

In full caregiver mode, Dean rocked Cas, sang to him, all night.

(________________________________________________________________________)

Dawn came. Dean gently lowered Castiel to the bed, and covered him. He thought his mate would sleep a great deal more if left alone in peace. Because, Cas had gone boneless.

Dean's inner sense of justice prowled deep in his brain, impatient, pacing.

Dean slipped from the room, going straight to Crowley's quarters. He knocked softly. To his astonishment, he heard _two_ different snorts of sleepy surprise. Ten, fifteen seconds later, Crowley opened his door to peer up at him. The tailor was dressed, but looked rumpled. In fact, it didn't look like he'd gotten much sleep. “Wow, do you wake up gorgeous,” Dean said.

“I haven't actually slept,” Crowley told him, scowling. “You're no vision of beauty, either. What'd you do, sleep in a hedge?”

“Got company?” Dean asked, deflecting. “I need a favor.”

Crowley's eyes narrowed. “Do you know you tend to misdirect my brilliance when you've either made a grand gesture, or are about to make one?” He sniffed. “You always need a favor,” Crowley bitched mildly, letting Dean off the hook. “And, our vent hole is plugged, so I don't have any clue as to what fresh hell you're either enduring, or fomenting.”

Dean shrugged. “Currently? Both.”

Something in Dean's tone or manner must have given him away, for Crowley stopped putting on an act of irritation. He straightened up. “Come in. My company is only your pretty father, and he's probably fallen back asleep.”

Dean didn't know if he had the strength for this. He steeled himself, and stepped in.

John wasn't naked, thankfully. He was asleep across a couple of tied together bolts of velvet that were supported by a large quilting frame. Barefoot, shirtless, he had a clean, new frontier hat over his face, and a seeping bandage on his left bicep.

“He's fine,” Crowley informed. “Took an arrow intercepting a sneaking, enemy alpha coming through the west woodland. He slit the man's throat.”

“But, my dad does everything possible to not kill people,” Dean whispered.

“Well, he'd knocked the alpha down, and subdued him, intending to drag him back here for questioning,” Crowley admitted. “Then, he did a weapon search on him, and found some papers with the man's orders written out.” Crowley gave Dean a weighted look. “Instructions for how to bring you back to Julian Wexley, and how you weren't to be used. Because Wexley wanted first crack at your various holes.”

Dean shook his head, disgusted. “A good alpha is a wonderful thing. A bad one needs put down,” he said.

“True.” Crowley yawned and blinked.

“Why didn't he just take your bed?” Dean asked.

“He was bloody and dirty, and refused to ruin my linens. Which aren't as valuable as the printed silk velvet he's lying across, but I didn't tell him so. Let him be chivalrous. And, don't tease him for it,” he added.

“I don't have the energy,” Dean admitted. “Listen, I came to ask if you'd sit with Cas awhile. He had a very, very bad night, and I don't want him alone while I tend to something I can't avoid.”

“Of course I'll look after your stud,” Crowley said, leading Dean back out into the hall, and quietly shutting the door. “Nothing will get him, I swear.”

“Yeah, I know that,” Dean replied, grateful Crowley wasn't going to ask what his business was. And, no, Crowley wouldn't fail him. Dean's proof of that was an unfortunately clear and graphic memory. “I shouldn't be very long, and, I'm not leaving the house,” Dean said.

“Take your time,” Crowley said, parting ways with him at Cas' bedroom door, yawning again.

At the top of the stairs, Dean began to let his facts, memories, and feelings come to the surface.

Cas' pain should have been _noticed_ by his loved ones.

Dean went down the stairs, and headed straight for Meg's station. She usually sat at a little desk right in the front entrance hall, waiting for him to come down for breakfast, and, talk of finances. This morning was no different. It looked like she was writing in a ledger. She glanced up, saw him, and her eyes widened a little. She stared at Dean as if he'd grown another foot.

“ _I'm glad he has Meg. He knew what he was doing, putting her in charge.”_

“D-Dean?” Meg greeted, slowly standing up. She swallowed hard. “Something's happened?”

“Do I look that scary?” Dean asked, his voice coming out low and flat.

“Frankly? Yes.” Meg nodded solemnly. “Showing up in the hall at dawn, wearing yesterday's clothes, your hair all awry...” She swallowed again. “And your _eyes_...”

“I'm not in a good place in my head,” Dean said. “Meg, is there anyone in the east wing, not counting Zachariah and Naomi?”

“Yeah, I sent some people up there to keep the cleaning project going on in the library,” she said. “You and Crowley worked so hard I thought you'd like to get help.”

“Good thinking, but could you send Alisha to bring everyone back down?” Dean asked. “I want none but Cas' parents in there while I'm visiting.” He gave Meg a tight smile. “And, I'd like for you to stand outside the hall doors to make sure no one interrupts or overhears our... conversation.”

Meg rang the entry hall's bell pull quickly. “Yes, sir, of course,” she said.

Dean realized he really must be putting out a menacing scent, to affect Meg. Meg wasn't scared of much, but she looked scared now. “I'm not mad at you, Meg,” Dean said quietly.

“Please don't hurt his parents,” she whispered swiftly, her eyes on the approaching Alisha. “That would destroy him.”

“I wouldn't. I love them, too,” Dean said, and she relaxed a little.

“Alisha, go collect the cleaning crew in Dean's library,” Meg said, quickly sending her on her way. The very moment the girl vanished, Meg met Dean's eyes again. “Did _they_ hurt him?” She asked, her eyes gaining a hard, flinty light.

“Not deliberately, I think,” Dean said. “And, that's why I'm still calm.” He paused. “And, I appreciate that you care so much for him. He's had a real friend in you. In fact, I don't believe you know exactly how much you've kept Cas sane.”

Meg's eyes shifted with memories like a tide going in and out. “I just...” She lowered her eyes, and her shoulders slumped. She sighed quietly. “He's so _good_. So _special_. Why can't _everyone_ see that?”

It was a quiet little question, loaded with her years of watching Castiel struggle between what was expected of him, and what he wanted for himself. Just looking at Meg, Dean saw the weight of her caring.

Without Meg, Castiel would have drowned in his own suffering a long time ago.

“You and I? We see him,” Dean consoled her quietly. “I'll take the knife wielding butler's help over anyone, any day.”

Meg straightened up to give Dean a heartbreaking, hopeful smile. “You mean that.”

“I do.” Dean leaned over, and pressed a kiss to her head.

Meg bowed her gaze again, and gave a little sob. It was nearly a perfect echo of the one Dean had heard from Cas early on in their tumultuous evening of confession and fear. Dean wanted to hug her, but that would take what she had left of her pride. So, he crouched, and let her look down upon him. “This world is full of mean people,” he said as she wiped her eyes. “Thank you for making it less mean. Don't let the rich, upper class rules keep you from talking to our unicorn. What I say, goes, now. I'm second in command, remember?”

Meg choked out a laugh, nodding.

“Good.” Dean rose to his full height. “And, no more of that 'sir' business. I never needed it before, and I sure as hell don't need it because I married the closest thing to a prince Panomu has.”

Meg fully dried her face with the tail of her coat, and chuckled. “Exactly,” she vowed. “Oh my God, Dean. How can you be so forbidding, and friendly, at the same time?”

“I compartmentalize,” Dean answered. “You're not the one I'm mad at. You're the one I have to thank for having my alpha in the first place.”

Alisha and a crew of servants came pouring out of the hall, then, and Meg's body snapped into a straight line. She began giving orders, reassigning, directing the flow of people. She knew her job, and the force of her personality kept people motivated. When they stood alone, Meg escorted him to the doors. Dean stepped in, and Meg, smiling a little, pulled them shut behind him.

Dean stood there just inside the threshold, contemplating. Anger lurked under his skin, coiled in his spine. In perfect silence, he slowly made his way down the long corridor. The elder Novak's door stood open. He could hear them talking, warm and affectionate with each other. Chatting, really, about nothing of consequence.

Filling the air with fluff while Castiel's air was so heavy he could scarce draw breath.

Leaning on the wall, Dean came to a stop with a direct view into the Novak's main living chamber. He tilted his head and fell to watching them, wondering if they simply weren't capable of understanding what they'd done to his mate, or if the burden was just so far removed by the years that they could ignore it.

They weren't cruel people. He couldn't love cruel people. He'd have seen them for a lie if they'd been acting. And, they were far from stupid.

Dean had pieces missing in this puzzle.

Dean, still leaning on the wall, tracked Naomi in her apparent pursuit of an appropriate stack of paper. She listed people she wanted to correspond with while her husband vetoed them.

Naomi loved Zachariah even though her dear Cassandra was rotting in the ground.

Dean eyed Cassandra's ring. It sparkled so brightly. Naomi had given this to Dean because she valued his addition to the family. For so long she'd worn it on a necklace to keep her lost love close, but somehow she was able to let it go because Dean had come into her son's keeping.

A sacrifice for a sacrifice?

Dean pondered the importance of Zachariah giving _him_ the family distinction instead of Cas. Cas said it was because he knew the family line would not go on without Dean. That sounded a little cold, now, but... But, the way Cas phrased it, it suggested his parents knew that if something happened to Dean, Cas wouldn't try again. Cas wouldn't get another omega.

Supposing all that correct, it meant they knew their son was invested, that he cared. And, that they wouldn't try to _push_ him to get another mate if Dean died. That was decent of them. Very decent.

“ _My mother is incredibly aware of what I am.”_ Cas had said that so thoughtfully _._

All that jewelry would go right to Cas if Dean died, but it meant nothing to Cas. Cas loved his bees, his horses and dogs, his _people_. He loved living things, not heartless money and gems. Naomi and Zachariah knew that.

But, that didn't let them off the hook. No. No, if they knew how much their son loved people, it only made their offense against him more unspeakable. To subject Cas to killing a defenseless omega simply because they wanted him to produce children?

“ _Well...” Castiel moved his lips with an emphatic little 'smack'. “I'm not tooting my own horn, but facts are facts. My bloodline could produce splendid offspring, but not with a Novak. I had to be paired with an omega. It couldn't be done another way.”_

_Dean slowly smiled. “We haven't even tied the knot, or your knot, and I'm totally the savior of the Novak line, aren't I?”_

“ _Yes, you clever thing,” Castiel said, blushing a tiny bit. “You see? Not only is your blood exceptional, but you are yourself. My mother would eat ground glass if it meant keeping you.”_

Monstrous. Dean couldn't forgive that. There were so many Novaks crawling the earth already. Why insist innocent life be paid to producing more? Dean knew by Cas and Kevin's reports that there really were a metric ton of Novaks.

Dean looked at his wedding ring, aware of the silence that had fallen around him, but uncaring. His thoughts flowed as they would, teetering between condemnation and sanction. He admired the rubies and diamonds on his finger, thinking of how upset Cas had been that he couldn't get the right color emeralds. He'd provided a velvet to the furniture maker to match Dean's eyes, though. That had been easier to accomplish. And, he'd been so pleased that Dean liked the couch.

“ _I'm totally the savior of the Novak line, aren't I?”_

Why invest so much in Cas? He had a brother.

Wait.

“ _Often, the only way two mated alphas can have children at all is when selectively inbreeding. That is why a quality omega was so important to my parents, for me. Fresh blood untouched by the name Novak.”_

And, _“I was always smitten,” Zachariah said. “But, Naomi wasn't in my immediate circle. She vanished for a long while, and I know now that was because she found her perfect, omega mate. When she returned to the family gatherings, our parents pondered linking us. Thankfully, we were more than compatible.”_

Samandriel wasn't as good as Cas, for offspring. Samandriel wasn't an angel. Just as diluted as the rest of his family.

“Dean?” Naomi's voice beckoned to him, weak and uncertain.

Dean lifted his eyes to see Cas' parents standing close to the door. They were still, but not still. Both of them frozen as if confronting something deadly. Shivering. He caught their scents on a sudden back flow from some faraway, open window, and their sustained anxiety made the air sour, even rank.

Dean blinked once, slowly.

“ _When she returned to the family gatherings, our parents pondered linking us. Thankfully, we were more than compatible.”_

Rich people chess moves. Dean found he despised them. Always looming in his life, causing him to be constantly on the game board with his asshole on the line. He drew a fan from his obi, unfurled it, and forced air onto his heated face. He felt on the brink of something dreadful.

“Dean?” Zachariah called out, equally soft and apprehensive.

“You aren't to speak,” Dean heard himself say, dead and soft. “I'm still deciding.”

Cas. Poor Cas. Living his whole life knowing that doing what his parents wanted would probably end in tears. All those cousins and relatives on the fringe, waiting for Cas to provide heirs. To give forth from his dominant line in order to keep the Michael-sanctioned, holy, family tree strong.

Put a strong angel back into the bloodline. Get a quality omega. Hope you don't kill him.

Dean strode into the room, uncaring that Naomi and Zachariah darted away from him. But, he took notice that they instantly regrouped, clinging to each other. He slid a chair out from the writing deck at the wall, and sat upon it

Dean burned inside. These people that sincerely loved Cas were ignorant of the load they'd placed upon him. He could come to no other conclusion. They weren't bad people, and they loved their son deeply. So, Dean had no one to punish. No one to blame. But, Dean could show them their errors.

“Your parents put you together in the hope you would make good kids,” Dean said. He paused to spare them a weary look. “Sit.”

Naomi and Zachariah sat on the nearest couch, together and in unison. They threw out the smells of stress and guilt.

“I know you love Cas,” Dean went on. “It's so fucking obvious that a deaf and blind guy could pick up on it.”

Naomi opened her mouth, and Dean sharply waved a fan at her in warning.

She remained silent.

Dean gathered himself. It took so much effort. He was _mad_. Mad, and wanting vengeance.

“All of his life, Cas has known that he could kill the omega mate that was given to him, or the one he chose,” Dean said, watching his adopted family droop in shame and sorrow. “I want you both to drop your entitled, rich-kid _**crap**_ for a couple of minutes to just contemplate what it did to your first born son, the angel...” Dean paused to gather himself, and heard a feral snarl escaping his air passages.

“The _angel_ ,” Dean went on, picking up the thread of thought. “You two made a flesh and blood angel. And, I don't give a flying _**fuck**_ if it was you, or your conniving, Novak parents. I truly do not. But, Cas has had a load of shit hanging over his head. He's never wanted to fail either of you. So, he gave in. He took an omega he thought might survive himself and both of _you_.”

Naomi and Zachariah pulled together, using each other for support. It was sweet, but Dean didn't care at this point.

“You two have made my husband, my _**mate**_ , frightened, and feeling like a failure,” Dean said, standing over them and spurred to violence. “If I didn't love you, I'd _kill_ you,” he breathed, spilling his wrath all over the pair. “For thirty fucking years Cas has choked down a steady diet of pain and fear. I can't even imagine the ruin in his head. He thinks that his seed means my death. How _dare_ you look at him and not feel _**sick**_?”

Naomi put her face in her hands. Her body shook. Dean could smell her grief. Zachariah bowed his head in shame.

“The only thing I can figure is that Novak people are on this spinning ball of rock because Michael thought mankind needed you,” Dean went on, watching Zachariah's shoulders slump in verification. “That's right, isn't it? The angel that stands guard over your whole bloodline uses your family's sense of justice to take care of what humans we have left, here.”

“Yes,” Naomi whispered. “But we didn't know our blood would combine to produce a real angel. There are no others like Castiel, not in our entire family.”

“Our progenitor, Casiah, was a light-born,” Zachariah added. “An angel inhabiting a human body. Angels can't mingle with ordinary people unless they have a vessel.”

Dean rubbed his forehead. He was so tired, so very nearly overwhelmed. Still angry, too. “So, you made an angel of flesh,” he said. “And, I'm betting Cas knew he was different from day one. He's awesome like that.”

“Yes,” Zachariah agreed, low and quiet. He reeked of sorrow and guilty conscience. “At least, we've deduced so. He wouldn't talk, or even make any noise, for years. We took that silence as a sign he was... judging us.” He paused to wipe sweat from his brow, his hand shaking. “We pressured Castiel to have children, but I never knew he took us to heart like this. He's so quiet and mild-mannered unless stirred to anger. Forgive us, Dean. Please, forgive us.”

“It's not me you need to apologize to.” Dean wasn't quite as angry, now that he knew their ignorance had caused so much of this problem. People weren't perfect, even half angels, or whatever they called themselves. They'd reared a man Dean respected, after all. A decent, moralistic man of charity, faith, and good works. Dean wouldn't love Cas if Zachariah and Naomi hadn't helped shape him into what he was.

“ _My son has always been on the outside looking in. He's never been ordinary.” Zachariah swept snow off the lowest beam so they could sit on it and look toward the lake, which was steadily freezing over. “The way he's acting right now tells me he never expected to sire children, and that it's just now sinking in that his amazing omega, soon to be his husband, is going to need them. He's frightened he'll put a monster in your belly, Dean.”_

“You could have told me, you know,” Dean said. “You could have told me what you are, what he is. We could have relieved him of at least some of this pain.” Now, Dean felt his anger returning, but nothing like before. “I understand why _Cas_ kept his mouth shut. You two made it clear he had to conceal himself. I'm sure that was because human beings are dangerous and superstitious.”

Naomi nodded swiftly, rocking herself back and forth, openly crying.

Dean turned his attention to Zachariah. “When he came to you, Zachariah, and said he was afraid of giving me a child, how did he express that?”

Zachariah's eyes moved to the left as he access his memories. He licked his lips. “He said that he worried you weren't strong enough. And, I said that you were very strong, and not to worry.” Zachariah cringed, then. “Damn it to _hell_. I didn't read enough into his words.”

Dean nodded his cold approval. “So, when you were explaining to me, that day at the lake, and you used the word _**monster**_...” Dean stopped to get a deep breath in. “That was deliberate. You were giving me a hint. I missed it.”

“I didn't want to keep Castiel's nature a secret from you.” Zachariah bowed his head. “You're a very, very good man, and I...” He let out a long, shaky breath, and met Dean's eyes for just a moment. “You were to marry him, have his children. You deserved to know your children would be...”

“ _You have to know we all look at you as the perfect person for Castiel's seed. Your quality couldn't be more obvious. It's almost as if you were born for him. Even your own father, who has so much trouble with this arrangement and your designation, can see it.”_

And,

“ _My son has never disobeyed me, not once in his life,” Zachariah said. “That is why I so seldom order him to do anything. I know that he would do whatever I said, and I can't be responsible for that kind of power.”_

“A little extra,” Dean finished for him. “Do you remember that you told me Cas never disobeyed you?”

“Yes,” Zachariah said quietly.

“I'm sure Cas would have let me know what his deal was if he hadn't been commanded to keep the secret. You're very wise to not give him any more orders.”

Dean's anger had turned into sternness, a weary and heavy authority.

Dean spared a few minutes to think about what it would have been like for Naomi and Zachariah to raise a child capable of killing them. What it would have felt like for Naomi to hold Castiel to her breast, afraid, but determined to protect and care for him.

“ _My mother is incredibly aware of what I am.”_

Naomi had most of the child care duties. Zachariah had been forging their wealth, containing and promoting an empire, taking the control from his elders. And, Naomi had plenty of family to help her, but Dean would bet his fans on the fact she'd borne motherhood practically alone. She wouldn't have wanted her family to know what she'd given birth to. It wasn't safe for any of them. Better to just go on as if Castiel was a normal Novak child. Hide him in plain sight.

Oh, the fear she must have endured, day after day after day. Caring for her precious, hyper-intelligent, unbelievably strong baby. Refusing help so she could hide his nature.

As a person who had wanted children all his life, who longed to nurture, that fear and sacrifice in Naomi, echoed within Dean. He was able to let go of his wrath, now. Naomi had suffered as much as the child she raised. She only hid it better.

Dean filled with mercy for her sake.

Dean reached down to Naomi, and cupped her cheek. She shivered, and leaned into his touch. With his thumb, he stroked away a tear. “You brave, brave mother,” he whispered. “Protecting your baby and giving him everything possible, everything you had, while being afraid of him. I don't know _how_ you hid that fear. Cas still doesn't know.”

Naomi crumpled. “Dean,” she moaned. “It was so hard. It was so, _so_ hard.”

Zachariah, his arm around Naomi's shoulders, pulled her in to kiss her hair. He was crying, too. “We...” He stopped short, his throat convulsing. “We don't have to be afraid of him now. He's grown into a splendid man.”

“I know,” Dean said. He put a hand on Zachariah's shoulder, and squeezed. “But, that doesn't mean you've forgotten the strain it put on you. And, the pair of you had no one to talk to about it. Had to keep it inside, keep it quiet.”

“As Novaks, we're obligated to have children,” Zachariah said while his wife softly wept. “The whole time Naomi carried Samandriel, we had to wonder...”

“If she carried another angel made of flesh and bone,” Dean finished for him. “And, when he was born, you were relieved. But, it proved to you that Cas was special, too. You kept him on a short leash for the sake of everyone else.”

Forgiveness moved Dean's heart. These two had shouldered a burden no one could possibly comprehend. Yes, they had screwed up, and they'd really done a number on Cas, but they loved him. And, Dean loved _all_ of them. _Michael_ , he prayed. _Naomi and Zachariah have labored long and without rest. They have done as you intended. Please, be kind to them_.

Dean felt Michael's attention shift. He didn't speak, but Dean knew he'd taken in the situation. It was enough for Dean.

“You both were so happy Cas bought me,” Dean said. “You evidently thought I could bear Cas' children. I take that to mean Casiah's mate prospered.”

“Casiah's first wife bore him seven children, one after the other,” Zachariah said. “She was murdered by an unknown thief. Casiah mourned her for many years, then took an omega male for a husband. He bore ten children. I am from that second line. Naomi, the first.”

Dean nodded. “And, the surname?”

“Something Casiah chose,” Zachariah said, sighing. “We don't know why he decided upon Novak. We've only tried to live up to his choice.”

Dean patted him. “I think you have. And, I will do my best as well.”

“Dean, sweetheart,” Naomi whispered. “Neither of us doubt that. Especially now, when you exude _holy judgment_.”

Dean smiled through his great fatigue. “That conversation is for another day, when I know what you mean,” he said. He kissed Naomi's tear-stained cheek. “Take care of yourself today, Mother. Get some rest. Write your letters. I'll have your meals brought to the private dining area, and tell everyone to leave the pair of you alone.”

Naomi's scent changed to relief and joy, and Dean knew it wasn't from the prospect of being left alone. That he'd called her 'Mother' meant sanction and love.

One more pat to Zachariah's shoulder, and Dean left. He made his way down the hall, and knocked on the doors so Meg would let him out.

Meg eyed him as he checked his fans. “Everything okay?”

“I think so.” Dean took a deep breath. “They'll need privacy. No maids today. Have meals brought to the private, family dining room, with all the courses at once. Minimal invasion of their space, okay? I shook their foundations, and they're delicate right now.”

“I get it.” Meg went to her desk and began writing. “What else, Dean?”

“Put Bill and my brother in charge of the estate today, unless something radical occurs. In that case, you can come and get me. I'll be with Cas in his bedroom. We'll need our meals sent up as well, and whatever is made for the rest of the household is good enough for us.”

Meg nodded. “What about your father?” She continued to write.

“Crowley will be looking after him. Inform Sam that our dad took an arrow last night, and that he's not badly wounded.” Dean felt so tired, now. Weary to his bones. “What was done with the alpha invader's body?”

“I had a couple of Garth's men bury him in the woods,” Meg said in an absent way. “Shall I schedule a bath for you?”

“Yes. That comes after breakfast.” Dean ran a hand through his dirty hair, and grimaced. “Make that before breakfast.”

Meg smirked.

 


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Broken angels aren't like broken people. Except, they are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being so kind and patient with me and this monster of a fic. I'm going to have to break the story in half, or, thirds, very shortly.

“He hasn't awoken,” Crowley said by way of greeting. He put his book down while sniffing the air. His eyes pinned Dean. “Whatever you did, I'm glad I wasn't a part of it. That fading smell of condemnation hanging around you must have been awful when fresh.”

“I took no pleasure in my duty,” Dean said simply. And, it _was_ duty. But, also a privilege. Protecting and promoting his amazing husband was a reward in and of itself. But, his beautiful, kind, wrecked husband, didn't look like he'd even moved. On one point that was good. It meant Cas had rested a bit. On the other hand, sleeping like that was worrisome. Dean ought to know, having done it long enough to get weak, to knock at Death's door. “Thanks for watching him. I expect you'll stay close to my dad today?”

“I intended to,” Crowley admitted. “What I gave him for pain is powerful, and he needs constant dosing against infection. And, despite the fact I like his cute little battle wounds, I'd like to prevent any further scarring on him.”

“You've got it bad,” Dean deadpanned, stepping aside so Crowley could saunter out. It gave him a sense of permanence to devil his friend a little bit. He so desperately needed Crowley's support. The perpetually randy, unavoidably charming, tailor/witch/protector, provided Dean a rock-solid harbor during tumultuous storms.

“Darling, I _will_ have your daddy,” Crowley vowed as he headed for his room.

Dean thought he probably would. He dismissed an unseemly mental picture quickly. No need to travel a road like that. His father and his best friend were healthy, sexual people, but he didn't like the automatic exploration his mind wanted to initiate. His near-perfect memory could be a sonuvabitch at times, providing pictures he didn't want.

Standing inside the bedroom, Dean considered that he needed to be less crude, even in his own mind. He was firmly ensconced within a family dynamic that included eloquent speech. He should emulate the fluent delivery of Cas' better spoken servants. Or, maybe Samandriel. Even when hot-headed and full of rage, Samandriel spoke very well.

Actually, Samandriel spoke very formally. Strangely articulate. Thanks to Dean's sonuvabitch memory, he could call upon the speech patterns of everyone he'd heard. He'd make a conscious effort to affecting a more genteel personality. Words and formality could bring power. Cas was going to be a very powerful man, soon, being an inheritor. Dean had to be of all the help he could manage.

God.

It was all so tied together. So political.

Dean tidied up the room while he waited for the bath water brigade. He kept the curtains closed to give Cas privacy, and to prevent the judgment of eyes. When Wilkes and Peterson came up with the first buckets, he greeted them politely, but with reserve. He was too physically and emotionally drained to put himself out to the world as 'normal'.

Normal. Was _anything_ 'normal'? Was it normal to have one's husband lying upon his own bed like washed up driftwood on a sandbar? Was it normal for a low caste omega to have to go school his alpha in-laws? No. No, it wasn't. Dean hated that he'd had to do it in the first place, hated that he'd had to address his new mother, and, secondary father, like people to be reprimanded and controlled. It was wrong. Wrong. He'd been relying upon them for support. Having to come down upon them as a disciplinarian turned his stomach. Even now, his guts churned.

Wilkes and Peterson finished their task, casting him surreptitious, worried looks under their carefully down-turned lashes. Dean realized he must be putting out a hard scent, and banked himself long enough to very politely thank them. He consciously changed his scent by thinking of a day spent at the river with Sam, hunting crayfish, enjoying the wonder of nature. In observing that the mountains around them had been carved out by large water, the same as the smaller water carving channels in sand, they'd both found a certain satisfaction in knowing all life had perfect order.

Even if it all looked like chaos, life had rules.

Bath ready, door closed and locked, Dean pulled the curtains back to have a proper look at his poor alpha.

Cas was a mess. Dried tears, hair all over the place, limbs displaying lax like a doll tossed to the floor.

Sorrowing for Cas, Dean very gently undressed him. It was difficult. Cas had long arms and legs, and they kept flopping because Dean trembled, sick with pathos. When he finished, he felt like he'd run a couple of miles. He put extra care into lifting Cas, and, to carrying him to the water.

As he'd done when Cas came back from his mysterious, week long trip, the trip that had actually meant molt, Dean propped Cas up with his own body to wash him. He couldn't help admiring his husband's construction, even as he felt bad for him. Cas had a gorgeous...

Cas had a gorgeous everything. No fucking lie. So perfect that he deserved every syllable in his poetic, angelic name. Castiel. Angel. Dean used the shortened form because he loved him, but really, he ought to be saying the full form as homage to what Cas was, and to what Cas wanted to represent. To be. He'd have to look up the meaning of Cas' name. Maybe ask Naomi about it, when she'd recovered. It had to be more complicated than a similarity to Cassandra.

Dean understood some of Samandriel's jealousy a little better, now. Growing up knowing your brother had turned out to be an angel, and wanting to be just as powerful and handsome. Naomi and Zachariah had been so afraid, so watchful for Cas' sake that they'd probably neglected Samandriel. They wouldn't have done it on purpose, but children didn't see things with wisdom, and all that attention to Cas ate Samandriel up from the inside.

Dean felt glad Samandriel fared better, now.

Cas nuzzled his face into the crook between Dean's neck and shoulder, sighing. His warm breath made Dean's wet skin break into goose bumps. Dean pulled him onto his side and cradled him, very glad he would accept this consolation. Traumatized people didn't always have open arms. Many of the children Dean had helped and mentored had done a lot of hiding and cowering away, at first.

Children were so resilient. Spirited and bendy, able to bounce back with the smallest amount of support or understanding. Full of the desire to do better, be better. Dean had used their strength to fashion them into something even stronger. He'd loved those children Sonny mentored. Every last one. Only Sonny's warnings to keep the contact breakable had stopped him from considering every child one of his own.

God. Dean had hated seeing them get bought.

 _Michael, thank you for personally taking people to Heaven_ , Dean prayed, suddenly and forcefully. _What you do for people is amazing and wonderful. I love that you care. I don't give a crap if it's because of your dad, God, or if it's because of you. It doesn't make a difference. You do as you were told, and I'm no stranger to that_.

Dean felt Michael paying attention. It was enough. He didn't have to hear a response.

Keeping his touch light and gentle, Dean stroked Castiel anywhere he could reach, anywhere not overtly sexual. Cas' skin was smooth, covering elegant muscle.

Dean's pale, perfect alpha, so vulnerable...

Cas couldn't run a war like this. But, neither could he stand down and let someone else do it. There were too many people looking to him for guidance. He'd already accepted his father's alpha-down, Dean's father's alpha-down, set people to different tasks, and put out an air of hard authority.

As Dean pondered this problem, Cas stirred to life. He slowly pulled a weary arm up, and slid his hand over Dean's belly. “Dean,” he whispered.

Dean thought so. A warm bath while being cradled with love? That would move a stone.

“Heya,” Dean whispered against Cas scalp. “It's fine. You're fine, Cas.”

“Oh, I'm really not,” Castiel confessed. “What happened?”

“Don't try to think. Just feel.” Dean slid them lower into the tub. “No one needs us today, and Meg's got everything under control. You can trust Meg.”

“I can... trust Meg...” Cas sighed, staying relaxed.

Dean carefully bathed Cas, humming a pretty melody all the while. Cas kept a dreamy smile as long as Dean hummed. Soon, Dean had him dry, dressed in a pair of black silk trousers, had him warm and tucked back into bed. He dressed himself in sober colors, no kimono, hooking his fans to a belt. He built up the fire, closed the bed drapes, and rang the bell pull for the water to be removed. Faraday had replaced Wilkes.

“Would you tell Alisha, or anyone handy, that Cas and I are ready to eat breakfast?” Dean asked Faraday.

“Of course, sir,” Faraday answered, smiling.

Dean nodded. He didn't try to smile back. He knew he couldn't. All of his energy was about Cas right now.

He tried to wait with patience, but he worried. He worried and paced. Cas could apparently go without food better than Dean, down to his pre-Dean days being spent sporadically eating cashews for sustenance. But, Dean wouldn't be a good mate if he couldn't get some food into Cas. Where was that tray?

A knock.

Dean dove upon the knob, and turned it. “Charlie,” he said, taking the tray from the smiling red head. “Since when do you carry for the kitchen?”

“Since my charge moved himself into the master's bedroom,” Charlie answered all cheerful sass. “Wow, Dean, way to make a girl feel appreciated. All this time, and you just now notice I'm not hanging around you, getting you dressed?”

“No offense, but I'm closing the door in your face, now,” Dean said. He backed up. “Your energy makes me feel tired.”

“Why do people always say that?” Charlie asked as Dean delivered on his promise.

Dean found he could smile, after all. Charlie had a special charm. If things weren't so tense and serious right now, he'd appreciate her more.

He set the tray on Cas' desk, wondering how he could feed Cas. If Dean could even get him awake, he probably wouldn't feel like sitting up. Dean's eyes slowly rolled in their sockets, heading for forbidden territory.

His feeding couch was right here, and a perfect solution.

“Screw propriety, screw the dynamic, screw it all,” Dean growled. The system was fucked. Biased. Stupidly generalized. He opened the bed drapes, and pulled the covers from Cas' body. Gently, he picked Cas up, and carried him the short distance. Cas was heavy while not being heavy at all, which gave Dean a sense of wonder. He laid his husband down, stepping away to get the full view.

Actually, Cas looked pretty good on that piece of omega furniture. It was designed to accentuate the length of an omega's body, stretching him or her out. Dean wasn't an alpha, but had some understanding now of why Cas wanted three of these things. Why he'd been _picky_ about this one. It was in the most intimate setting, the bedroom. And, Cas had such a splendid, long body. Less than two inches shorter than his own. But, Cas was so elegant, and, strong in his form...

“Cas, you secret voyeur,” Dean whispered, smiling again. “I see what you did, there.”

“Mm?” Cas opened his eyes and blinked. Then, he blinked again. He was dopey, confused, and charming in that state of mind. His pretty, dark, spiky hair only added to his beautiful, disheveled presentation. “What did I do?”

“Thank goodness,” Dean said, sliding the desk chair over. “Are you hungry?”

Another blink. Cas rubbed his face against the velvet, just like Dean had done once. Sensuous, loving appreciation of tactile pleasure. “I smell your lovely scent...” He looked about to drift off again. Eyes sliding shut, body relaxing, head drooping. But then, his head snapped up.

Dean looked into those wide, bright blue eyes, and steadied himself for a new barrage of high emotion. Deliberately, he thought about the first time they met, when he finally felt safe. Sleeping against Cas' back, lulled by his smell and the rocking of the horse. He basked in the memory, using the scent it conjured within his pores to balm and coat Cas' alpha nose.

Cas let his head drop. “Dean, that is _underhanded_ ,” he complained. “Using my sense of smell against me.”

“Would you rather dart around in a fit of nerves?” Dean pushed some humor out at him next. A memory of watching Cas sagging in a chair with his eyes watering, laughing because Dean asked him to pee in a circle around him.

“How do you have so much control over the way you smell?” Cas asked, a little irritable, a little afraid, and very fatigued.

“I suppose it would have to be because I've had to protect myself that way all my life. It just never occurred to me to use it to _help_ an alpha before.” He uncovered the tray, directing a steady stream of relaxation at Cas. It was wonderful that he could use his control to keep Cas in a better place, mentally, while Cas understood it was a construct for his benefit. The free will was important. He knew that, now. “Coming here pretty much allowed me to let go, to display the way I feel. You know, safe. Safety means honesty.”

“You couldn't do me the decency of conjuring up a good panic? I would get the inevitable, secondary stage of mental collapse over with.” Cas said, still irritable at being manipulated.

“There's nothing to panic over. You're fine, I'm fine, _we're_ fine.” Dean was firm about this. He got the soup tureen, and the spoon, and sat down before Cas. “Breakfast seems to be soup left over from last night. I think it's potato.”

Cas eyed him with an odd mix of humor and petulance. “Dean. I'm an angel.”

“You sure are,” Dean chuckled. He slid the spoon across the surface of the soup, moving slow, even sensual. He brought up another memory, one of Sky, her laughter filling the vast space of the cathedral with happy innocence. Cas' dreamy smile returned. He accepted the measure of soup without complaint. And, Dean saw why Cas would feel fascinated with watching Dean's lips accept food. Because, Cas' mouth needed immortalized.

Too bad Dean was only good at drawing. Paper rotted, eventually. People that chose to draw their art were selfless, in a way. Like those sand painters his mom told him about so long ago. Spending hours and hours drawing a perfect picture with colored sand, then wiping it away without even taking time to contemplate their work.

“You're thinking about your mother. I can sense it. Because, I'm an angel,” Cas said, all monotone and choppy like a mathematically gifted omega boy Dean mentored to be sociable.

Dean grinned, and fed him another spoonful. “You're an angel,” he agreed. Cas' big reveal was opening a floodgate. It would bring him relief. Dean would let him confess over and over without drawing attention to it unduly. Once Cas accepted Dean knew, and that Dean didn't care what he was, Cas would probably start elaborating more. This was only the beginning of letting out all that held-back, poisonous secrecy.

Dean wouldn't let the injustice and sympathy color his smell, his face, or his body language. He was trained to think one thing and project another, if needed, and this time it wasn't for the thought he'd have to keep himself safe, but for the sake of his mate's ease. It felt good, having the power to use his self-control for care-giving.

He'd come full circle. He hadn't had to use much of his training so far, but now it was very, very useful. Dean would stop at nothing to care for Cas.

Dean gave Cas a drink of cherry juice. The way Cas licked his lips filled Dean with obscene, wonderful thoughts and feelings. He very carefully swallowed them up before they could contaminate his smell. “I want to go to the greenhouse later, if you feel charitable,” he said.

Cas leaned for the next offering of soup. “Angels are all about charity.”

Dean chuckled. “So far, yeah,” he agreed. “How about we go after supper? Will you be strong enough?”

“Angels are strong, too.” Cas looked at Dean dead-on as he spoke, as if daring Dean to stay calm and not freak out.

“The angel _I'm_ feeding is _very_ strong,” Dean praised, projecting his feelings upon leaping into Cas' arms at the lake side. “He impresses me over and over and over.”

It wasn't an exaggeration. Castiel affected him to a degree that went above and beyond any sense of normalcy.

“It's not hard to impress a human, when you're an angel,” Cas countered, and just a touch on the haughty side, which cracked Dean up internally. He almost laughed out loud. It was a near thing, and he could not rein in his scent. So, when Cas got a whiff of him, Cas grinned in a silly, silly way. Dean had never seen that look on him, and it thrilled him to his bones.

“You're _adorable_ ,” Dean vowed. “I mean it.” He fed Cas again. “I want to go to the greenhouse because of your church bees,” he informed. “I've seen your outdoor hives. By my calculations, this being April, your special bees will be very active. Months and months of winter keeping in the greenhouse, and they must be swarming.”

Cas ate three more spoonfuls of soup, his eyes moving back and forth as he thought through his haze of mental setback, and the power of Dean's scent. He accepted more cherry juice, licked his fucking _perfect_ lips a few times, then nodded. “Keeping bees is my duty as a steward of the land. Angels protect and promote.”

“You can protect me from getting stung, being an angel,” Dean said casually. Like it was nothing.

Cas nodded again. His beautiful blue eyes, inherited from so many blue-eyed Novaks, were proud and sober.

Noble.

There might be thousands of Novaks with blue eyes, but Cas' eyes were the perfect blue. They set the standard.

“Yeah. I called that one.” Dean fed him the last of the soup, then the juice. He put all of their things onto the tray. “Mind lying down with me? I need a nap. I never sleep as good as when you're spooning me from behind. You make me feel protected. I don't think anyone or anything could get by you, angel.” He'd play up the positive aspects for Cas.

Dean hadn't scratched the surface of what it meant for Cas to be an alpha angel, but they almost seemed synonymous words. Interchangeable.

“It's my job to protect you, Dean. I'm an angel,” Cas replied. “It's stressful, but I enjoy it. You are precious.”

“So are you,” Dean said softly. “I have a job, too, Cas. It's to make you comfortable, to support you, to make your home a haven. Would you allow me to do my job?”

Cas looked right into Dean's eyes. Solid, perfectly sincere contact that held the weight of a thousand planets, the burning purpose of billions of stars. “I would allow the Righteous Man to do as he saw fit,” he answered. “Angels don't stand in the way of the Righteous Man; that isn't holy, obedient, or virtuous. It isn't an angel's place to thwart the upright judgment born of Adam's loins, God's favorite of all in his creation.”

Dean blinked a couple of times while absorbing that information, very carefully keeping his surprise, and, his vast incomprehension of Cas' makeup, separate from his scent. He could approach this so many ways. He could. He deliberated about ten seconds, but those ten seconds felt like centuries before his tongue unlocked.

“Bright-Soul is very pleased,” Dean said earnestly. “Bright-Soul appreciates the angel, Castiel.”

Cas fell back upon the support of the feeding couch with a broad, delighted smile. “I'm happy,” he announced. “I only want to make Bright-Soul happy.”

Dean quietly carried the tray to the hallway. He set it down on the smooth, wooden floor, then backed up and closed the door, that handy barrier between the oasis he had with Cas, and the workings of the manor. He pulled the frayed and shortened signal rope with the help of the fireplace poker, knowing it would prompt someone to clean up the breakfast tray.

They really needed to replace that bell pull. Dean was tired of using the poker, and every time he looked at it he had to think about why it was cut.

Dean, weary but hopeful, turned back the bed covers. This bed was his refuge. “We are going to sleep until the next time a meal is called for,” he announced.

“Whatever Bright-Soul wants,” Cas rumbled.

Turning, Dean did a scan for his pets. Ruto and Sphinx were curled up together just past the hearth. Their bellies moved in synchronous affinity. They were good. Just sleeping. Sphinx had an arm and paw over Ruto's neck, her neck, head and face anchored to the dog's chest. They looked cozy and completely content. Ruto even had a hind leg over the wild-born cat.

“Our animal guards are content,” Dean said, picking Cas up and putting him back into bed.

Castiel stared at Dean as Dean pulled the covers up. “ _Your_ animal guards,” he corrected. “I told them to protect you. That was easy to do, because I'm an angel.” He wasn't blinking at Dean, just staring and _staring_. “Dean. Dean, did you know? I'm an angel.”

Dean chuckled. “You're an angel,” he agreed. He bent and pressed a kiss to Cas' lovely mouth. “I'm getting in bed with you now, angel. Roll onto your side so you can protect my back.”

“Of course, Dean,” Cas said in almost a normal tone.

Dean got in and quickly made himself supremely comfortable against Cas.

It didn't take him ten seconds to fall asleep.

(___________________________________________________________________________)

“Dean, I'm an angel,” Cas said in Dean's ear.

“Mm-hmm,” Dean replied, smiling, eyes still shut.

“Why doesn't it bother you? That I'm an angel?” Cas asked.

“You're still Castiel,” Dean told him, blinking to check the light. He wished Cas had let him sleep a little longer. By the position of the sun it was just past noon. “Being an angel is just an add-on, for you, Cas. At least to me.”

“But, I've lied. I lied to you.” Cas still didn't have much intonation. His voice was almost expressionless. “I'm a filthy, lying angel.”

Dean read between the lines. Cas reported his emotional stance while showing he dwelt upon shaky firmament.

“You didn't lie. You omitted.” Dean snuggled back into Cas' solid warmth, stubbornly shutting his eyes.

“That was _living_ a lie. I'm still a lying angel.”

Cas could be stubborn, too.

“ _Were_ a lying angel,” Dean corrected. “Now, you're a truthful angel.”

“No, I still have to lie. No one can know I'm an angel.” Cas began kicking a leg back and forth, agitated. “I hate it. Why can't I live with my bees, Dean? _Bees_ like angels.”

Dean felt the covers being worked off of them by Cas' nervous movements.

“Cas, would you like to visit your bees right now?” Dean asked. “We can take food with us, or eat later.”

“Yes, Dean, yes,” Cas said, whipping the covers completely off, and rolling from the bed. He made as if to leave the bedroom, and Dean quickly did his own gymnastic routine to prevent that.

“Cas, if you go out there shirtless, I'll be fending your admirers off with my fans,” he said, pulling him back toward the bureau. “Let me put some clothes on you. Wow. Your mom wasn't kidding about the loincloth thing.” He grabbed a white jacquard shirt of his own, and held it up. “Arms first, then your head. Come on.”

“I know how to dress. I'm an angel.” Cas obeyed Dean despite his protest.

Dean smiled at him, and began tying the lacing in the collar. “Show me you're an angel, then. Go on.”

“Angels don't do tricks.” Cas kind of scowled. “Why aren't you wearing your beautiful clothing? I chose the kimonos myself.”

“Really?” Dean grinned. “I wondered. You didn't know my sizes, and everything fits.”

“I had a description of you. You're very comely, and of striking proportions.” Cas blinked. “But, I wasn't prepared for _you_. Angels try to be prepared. I failed. An angel failure.”

Time to re-direct.

Dean snapped his fingers, like Meg might do. Cas jerked out of beginning an inner, downward spiral. “Shoes?” He asked Cas.

“I don't feel like it,” Cas decided, pulling a childish look of willfulness. “You go barefoot. Why can't I?”

“Easy, there, alpha,” Dean murmured, calm and low. “You're the one making the decisions, not me.” Dean ran a hand through Cas' riotous hair. “Wait while I change clothes for you, okay? In fact, why don't you pick out what you want to see me wearing?”

Cas opened the appropriate drawer at once, and thrust his hand past the carefully stacked and folded kimonos, grabbing the dark green one that everyone claimed brought out Dean's eyes. “This one,” he said. “It makes me want to lick you from _feet_ to _face_.” He shook his head, his eyes going all mournful. “ _So_ unbecoming for an angel,” he lamented. “A light-born wouldn't feel like hoisting your legs twenty or thirty times a day.”

Shit, the things Cas could say at times. Dean hoped this brazen-faced verbosity was a good sign instead of an early warning for further setback. “A light-born doesn't have any appetite at all,” Dean pointed out, grabbing a silk sheath under layer. His face was on fire. “What if you couldn't taste your cashews? How about the pineapple? The coconut? All that smooth, beautiful honey?” He stripped as he spoke, and Cas was fucking _watching_ him. Actually watching, not just companionably occupying the room with him.

Dean had a feeling that bath time would soon gain a delicious element of danger.

“Cas?” Dean put on his under layer. “You in there?”

Castiel's eyes flicked to Dean's face immediately. “Dean. Wouldn't you rather I was a light-born? I could protect you a lot better.”

“Hell no, I don't want you to be some sort of ball of light, or whatever,” Dean said. “Have you _seen_ yourself, Cas?” Dean pointed at him for emphasis. “How can _that_ _body_ make you feel inadequate? You're so hot you burn the ground when you walk.” He put on the kimono, and white obi. “I nearly broke my knees getting down to the floor for your approval. Your face, your body, your voice, and don't get me started about how you smell. You're _perfect_ , Cas. Believe me.” Dean hooked his fans to his obi and gave Cas a stern look. “Don't you dare be sorry you weren't made like the other angels.”

 _ **God doesn't make mistakes**_ , Michael said in Dean's mind.

“God doesn't make mistakes.” Dean instantly followed the prompt.

Cas went back to staring at Dean, hot-eyed, still and quiet as if moving his body meant he wouldn't be able to control himself. And, for all Dean knew, that _was_ the situation. Cas smelled really good, like he did whenever they capitulated to intimacy. It wasn't too strong at the moment, though.

“Bees,” Dean prompted. If he let Cas get side-tracked into a bedroom sport, it could end badly. Cas wasn't in his right mind, and while Dean would forgive him if he surrendered to the inner alpha, he knew Cas wouldn't forgive himself. Never. He'd just add it to the mountain of crap he already felt sorry for. “My tunnel of love isn't as important as the scary tunnel we need to travel for the greenhouses.”

Castiel straightened up, his eyes clearing of lustful thoughts. “The tunnel frightens you? I can get us there without going through it. I'm an angel.”

Okay. Just the mention of Dean being afraid took Cas away from Sexy Times. That was good. Really good. “You can fly,” Dean deduced. Why was he surprised? He knew the guy had wings, and went into molt twice a year.

“Yes. I'm an angel.”

Dean began to chuckle. “Let's save that for later, okay? We don't want to scare the people who grow your fruits and vegetables. They're too important.”

“You're right,” Cas agreed. “Besides, they can't know I'm an angel.” He shook his head. “You weren't supposed to know. I failed. I'm a failure as an angel. Angels follow orders.”

“You didn't confess,” Dean pointed out.

“ _I wanted to_ ,” Cas said, sudden and low, and full of truth, eyes sparking with feeling. But, the spark died, and he slumped. “My father will be so disappointed in me.”

“No, he won't be,” Dean said.

“I should go see my parents.”

“They aren't taking company today,” Dean countered. He did not want Cas stressing out all over again. Zachariah and Naomi would come at Cas with their tears and guilt, and overwhelm him.

“Then, I can go see my bees,” Cas said instantly. “My bees are important. Very important bees, Dean. All that you see here? The bees did it. Making honey. That's why I'm rich.” He tilted his head as a sudden thought occurred. “Do you like that I'm rich, Dean, or do I seem _vulgar_ to you? Riches _are_ vulgar, aren't they? My father even says so.” He nodded as if he'd decided that to be true. “I'm a vulgar, filthy, lying, angel failure.”

All right. Time to drop the training fans and bring out the big ones.

Dean took Cas' elbow, and led him out of the bedroom. He'd have preferred to change Cas' silk sleep pants for something less... Well, less revealing to his attributes. But, he didn't have time. He went straight for Crowley's room, and knocked.

Crowley opened the door. He took one look at Casual Wear Cas, and lifted an eyebrow. “Stud, if you're wandering around like _that_ , you're ailing.”

Cas eyeballed him.

“Crowley, is my dad still here?” Dean asked.

“Just left,” Crowley said. “Come in.”

When Crowley shut the door, and they were all three looking at each other, Cas opened his mouth. “Dean knows I'm an angel. Dean is clever. John can't know. John might hunt me. It was risky healing him.”

Crowley nodded. “And, now I see _why_ clever Dean brought you here.” He pointed to a chair. “Sit, please.”

“You healed my dad?” Dean asked, shocked to his toes.

Cas nodded. He slightly rocked himself back and forth. “Your father was full of venereal disease. His liver was rotten. Bad heart. He's fixed now. Don't worry.”

 _John moved as if to seat himself, and stumbled. Castiel caught him by the elbow. The light in the room made it easy for Dean to see John's surprise at Castiel's strength. Dean, just for a moment, thought he heard people whispering in the room, and looked around nervously_.

“But... You loathed him,” Dean protested as Crowley bustled around his room, looking for something.

“He is your father. You were mourning.” Cas shut his eyes and turned his ear as if listening to something far away, his brows furrowing. “No more pain for Dean. I thought. I'm an angel. A vulgar, lying angel.”

“How long has been like this?” Crowley asked, pushing a mug into Cas' hands.

Dean, _touched_ by what Cas had done for his father, had to clear his throat. There were so many things he'd have to talk about with Cas once Cas was well enough. “Since he had a meltdown yesterday, pretty much. He woke up talking like a mentally incommensurate boy I used to know.” Dean put a hand on Cas' hard, strong shoulder. “What did you give him?”

“Buttercup, I gave him _tea_ ,” Crowley said. “I can't fix this. He sounds as if he's working though a lot of mental strain. Years of it, if I'm a good judge and quick study, and I completely am. Give him time.”

“Isn't there something you can do?” Dean had felt hope, and now it miserably crashed.

“No, but there's something you can do,” Crowley said. “You put your father and your father-in-law together, tell them Castiel is indisposed, and let them take over running things while he recovers. Let them know, however, that Meg is in complete charge of the house.”

“I can trust Meg,” Castiel said into his mug before sipping. “Meg has a large knife. Dean. Did you know she has a knife?”

“Yeah, Cas, she showed it to me,” Dean answered, thinking. “Crowley, it's going to look bad for him to step down right now. The town alphas will get word of it, somehow, and probably make a move.”

A low, low, hair-raising growling filled the room. Dean felt it reverberating in his ribcage. The accompanying scent of fury emanating from Cas' pores made Dean feel pride for his alpha's strength and morals, not faint or frightened. He patted Cas' shoulder. “I know, Cas,” he said. “They're bad people, and we want 'em gone. Trust me. But, we want you safe and healthy, too.”

“I share your concerns,” Crowley assured. “But, Castiel can't be talking to his people like this.”

Dean stood straight, feeling responsibility settle upon his shoulders. “Let me think about this. I want to take Cas to the greenhouse right now. You could come with us, if you want. They have a lot of herbs to look at. And, Joshua and Charles are really nice.”

“Accepted,” Crowley said, smiling.

Cas gave the mug back to Crowley. “We set a trap. Set a trap, Crowley.”

“What?” Crowley asked.

“Wexley. Trap.” Cas rolled his head as if getting a crick out. “Call a truce.”

Crowley's eyes narrowed down into mean little slits of intuition. “Act as if we surrender? They won't believe it.”

“Let them know.” Cas tapped his forehead. “Castiel is sick.”

Crowley blinked. “They'll come in to take advantage of you, and we trap them.”

Dean suddenly 'got it'. “We let Cas walk around like he is,” he said. “The town alphas will probably just ride on in here. No more lurking, or coming through the woods.”

Crowley nodded his agreement. “We need to send most of the servants and staff away. Let them trickle out for town errands, and stay somewhere close, but hidden.”

“Cathedral. Samandriel.” Cas' left leg began bouncing up and down in a hard, fast rhythm. “Dean. _Bees_.”

“We'll talk about it later,” Crowley said quickly. “Let's go see the bees. I want to visit the greenhouses very much. Shame on you both for not telling me about them.” He grabbed a bag, and a sharp knife from his sideboard. “Lead the way.”

(__________________________________________________________________________)

Crowley, to Dean's amusement and validation, didn't like the service tunnel, either. He sat in the center bottom of the cart, his muttering echoing off the rock walls. The sounds chased them, always falling behind because they moved faster and faster. Cas, on the other end of the hand crank, wasn't a bit disturbed by the dark, damp atmosphere. He was in front of Dean, facing him, because that's how the crank worked, and his smell coasted over Dean. He was excited at the prospect of seeing his bees, happy.

Dean concentrated on controlling their speed, mostly, but he couldn't help thinking about Cas. He had good healing abilities, evidently, to fix John Winchester's mess. Why would he be so afraid Dean would die in childbirth? If anything happened, he could simply heal Dean.

The end of the track was coming fast. He and Cas reached for the hand brake at the same time, the _exact_ same time, and were united in both pressure and force. Cas' hand was right up against Dean's. It felt good. Warm and strong.

They came to a gentle, perfect stop. Through the tiny crack of light, Dean saw Cas hop out. The cart rocked. “Brave Crowley,” he said. “Brave Dean. Servants hate this tunnel.”

Crowley crawled up and out, landing heavily. “Crowley hates this tunnel,” he replied.

Cas knocked on the access door. “Bees, Charles,” he shouted.

In no time at all, Charles was standing there in a flood of light, and Dean thought he might be wearing a bathrobe. It looked like it, but the brilliance was such a contrast he couldn't be sure. “Master Novak,” Charles said, sounding surprised. “Come in, sir.” He stepped back.

“I'm fecking blind,” Crowley said, stumbling. “Where's the heavenly choir?”

Cas, in the process of entering the main room, dropped his head back and laughed. Strangely, so did Charles.

“So, you're back,” Charles said to Dean, sipping from a flask. His blue eyes were warm, and held a touch of knowing humor. “Another bouquet?”

“Cas wants to visit his bees, Crowley wants to check out your herbs,” Dean said. Cas was already gone. Vanished. No sign of where he'd-. No, there he was. Striding toward the back rear of the staggeringly large structure.

There were advantages to glass walls. Losing someone was harder.

“How are you, Dean?” Charles asked softly. He pointed Dean to a wicker couch that stood to the right of the door.

Dean very suddenly got the idea Charles already knew his state of mind. Some people were really good at reading others. Dean himself was good with reading people. “You can tell I'm not in the best shape,” he said.

“Your eyes are weighed down with responsibility, and love,” Charles told him. “Sit. Have a swallow or two of rotgut.”

“What's 'rotgut'?” Dean asked before taking a big drink.

Fire went down Dean's throat. He mastered his stomach's automatic insistence to hurl it back up his gullet, but it took everything in him to accomplish that. Gasping at the way it lingered and got hotter on the exhale, colder on the inhale, Dean gave back the bottle of death. His eyes were tearing up. “The _fuck_ , man?” He asked, forgetting his manners, his voice cracking.

“You should have known by what I called it,” Charles said, smiling. “Wait for it...” He held a finger up, his head tilted, giving Dean full attention.

Heavy warmth flowed into Dean's arms, banishing the chill of the tunnel. He sagged back against the couch, and shut his eyes. “Better,” he said. “That is a _lot_ stronger than the wine I'm used to.”

“Wine isn't particularly high in alcohol,” Charles said. He had a drink or two, then handed the bottle back. “Try again.”

Dean wanted to say 'no', but the idea of getting a slight buffer between himself and current events posed as very tempting. He stared at the flattened, cobalt vessel about five seconds before taking it. “I think alcoholism is in my family,” he commented. He eyed Charles. “You're in a bathrobe,” he said, taking a more careful swig.

“You're in a _silk_ bathrobe,” Charles said with a shrug. “It's just me, Joshua, Anna, and Rachel. All the workers have gone home. Anna and Rachel live here, too, most of the time. We don't do fancy dress anyway. We work with _dirt_.”

Dean grinned. “Point to you, oh bathrobe wearing, rotgut-swilling, member of the heavenly choir.”

Charles grinned back. “Take another drink, then go admire the bees. Master Novak did a wonderful thing by breeding them.”

“How do you even breed bees?” Dean asked. He had his third drink.

“You take the queen and a portion of the drones, and put them into another hive. The old hive promotes a bee, and she becomes the new queen.” Charles took his flask back. “How do you feel?”

Dean belched behind his hand. “Honestly? A little carefree.”

“Good. One more.”

“I'm not going to be much good to Cas if I-.”

“He'll be fine,” Charles said, and his eyes were so confident.

Dean surrendered to a fourth big swallow of poison. “That's it. I'm on duty. Cas needs me,” he insisted.

“Okay. Consider making a bouquet before you go,” Charles said. “You want some food, stop by. Joshua and I can make you a platter of fruits and veggies.”

“Might take you up on it,” Dean said, and he lurched up.

His progress through doors wasn't exactly clumsy, but Dean possessed rather less grace than the usual. He was very, very careful in his navigation. Stumbling and falling might break glass, and let the elements in. He passed Crowley, and two women who were chatting animatedly about plants, just nodding before going on. At a smaller door, Dean paused to consider actually making a bouquet.

Maybe. He'd see how he felt later.

Another door. All this shiny glass bewildered Dean. He concentrated hard, focused himself, and pushed on toward a flat glass wall with a sliding door. Through it, he could see Cas standing very still in a gigantic carpet of fully blooming lavender flowers. He was smiling. Bees buzzed all around him.

Dean opened the door, walked through, and shut it. He found the path row, and followed it, being careful to not step on the pretty flowers. Oh, they smelled good. So good. He had to stop a moment to just savor the scent. It lifted a weight from his heart. A bee landed on his finger, and he brought his hand up so he could look at it. The little guy only had the faintest stripe of yellow going across it's back. Otherwise, it shone a glossy black.

Smiling, Dean used a finger from his free hand to stroke the very slightly hairy bee. “Hello, church bee,” he said.

The bee didn't react other than to vibrate it's wings.

Dean went to stand beside the smiling master of Tor-Valen. He showed him the bee. “Pretty,” he said.

Cas, who had about two hundred bees already crawling him, only smiled more broadly.

“ _Mankind needs bees, Dean. We would not have any fruit or flowers without them. A miracle of the Holy Father...”_

Dean listened to the humming insects. He began humming in their pitch. The sound of work, honest work. Industry. Dean respected that a great deal. He wondered at their motivation. “Cas,” he said.

“Dean?” Cas replied.

“Why do they work so hard?” Dean felt more and more bees resting on him, just pausing on their way to the flowers, or resting on their way back to the hives.

“My heavenly father.” Cas' languid blue gaze drifted like an un-moored rowboat. “Bees pollinate. Plant reproduction.” He shook his hand free of bees very gently, and clasped Dean's. “Flowers need bees.”

Dean's muzzy head plowed into those words. He wanted to keep Cas talking about what he loved. “So... Bees help make fruit and everything?” He knew the answer already, but that was fine.

Cas nodded. “Bees. Eden. I try. I can't make Eden. I can help keep humans alive. That's all.”

Dean squeezed Cas' hand. “You're helping,” he assured. “You feed a lot of people, Cas. You shelter them. You're kind to them. I respected you long before I fell in love with you. It's not easy to take care of people. Really. Take that from a purely human viewpoint, please. People are always needy and suffering. I don't know why.”

“I don't know, either.” Cas leaned against Dean's side. “Dean. I like that you're bigger. Bigger than me. I want to touch you all the time. You're so beautiful.”

Dean smiled, his latest confession of love validated in his heart by merit of Cas' pure, raw sweetness. All that angel caring, that alpha perspective, distilled into quiet and genuine appreciation... That was honest. Dean valued honesty. And, Cas might not have a human perspective on romance, but his angel view was very, very good.

Dean could deal with fewer human gestures from Cas as long as Cas kept giving him the holier purity.

“Cas.” Dean leaned to skate his lips over the slick, healthy hair he so often just wanted to either grip and pull, or run through his fingers. “If you could see yourself through my eyes, you wouldn't be hurting right now. The ground would be firm under your feet.” He dragged the arch of his foot over Cas' slim, pale toes for emphasis. “I like you for who you are, not _what_ you are.”

Cas shivered. “I believe you,” he ground out. “The Righteous Man has good judgment.”

They stood there a long time before Dean's stomach began rumbling. Dean chuckled, and rubbed a hand across his abdomen. “Charles said we could come to him for a meatless platter. Want to impose upon them?”

“Celery,” Cas said for his 'yes'. “Turnips, radishes, raw sweet peas.”

Dean kept their hands linked. “We'll see,” he said, guiding Cas toward the door. “Feel like feeding me?”

“Dean.” Cas gave him an exasperated eye roll. “I'm an angel. I look forward to feeding you.”

“Good.” Dean made a swift pounce, and kissed Castiel's throat. “I look forward to being fed.”


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for reading, and being patient. I have one more chapter after this one, I think, before starting the next story. This was too big to plunk down all at once. Now is the time for you to request things, because it's going to be getting more intricate. I hope.
> 
> Also, I'm not happy with this chapter, so I might go back to it when I can actually see it again. It's word blindness, or something. Look at something long enough and it starts to be gibberish at all points.

Dean would never say so, because he _liked_ Crowley, and, everyone needed to feel enthusiasm over something, but he was getting impatient with the listing of herbs Crowley had managed to snag from the greenhouse. Maybe Crowley itemized it all out loud to beat back the tunnel fear, too. So, Dean kept his mouth shut.

“Crap,” Dean muttered. He'd forgotten to set a maid to open the door for them.

“Dean. What?” Cas asked quickly.

“I needed to appoint someone let us back into the house,” Dean said.

“No. I can open the door.” Cas told him.

“Your stud is an angel,” Crowley reminded, taking a break from herb listing. “Even if he wasn't, _**I**_ could take care of the door. Not everything is on you, Dean. Relax.”

“I will when you quit inventorying the kitchen supplies,” Dean blurted, against all his determination to be patient and kind.

Crowley laughed, unimpressed with Dean's snappy mood.

“So, who do we let in on the plan?” Dean asked, changing the subject. “We can't tell everyone. Information gets leaked.”

“The elder Novaks, your father, your brother, the Harvelles, Bobby and Meg,” Crowley said. “All of them are perfectly trustworthy. We have to think about this, and add other, key players. I haven't started recruiting coven members yet, either. Sorry, Castiel. But, that's probably a good thing at this point. We don't want partly trained witches for secret enemies.”

“Where do you get your power from, anyway?” Dean asked. They were nearly to the other end of the tunnel, now, and he felt relieved.

“Darling, I was born with it,” Crowley answered. “Witchcraft is a matter of training, and, aligning oneself with natural forces. I inherited that from my late mother. I can only hope to have more compassion, and better judgment in using my abilities. Because, my mother was a complete bitch.”

Dean, curious, allowed a personal, maybe painful, question to pop out. “What killed her?”

Silence, for a few beats. Then, Crowley gave a small sigh. “Hell-hound. She made a deal, and her time to pay came due.”

Castiel made growl that lifted Dean's neck hairs. The smell of his disgust poured over Dean. “Demon deals,” he said lowly. “Neither of you _ever_ deal with a demon, do you understand me?”

It wasn't a request. Cas' alpha-intent couldn't have been plainer. He might be sick, might be scattered in the head, but he wasn't weak.

“ _What's a demon?” Dean asked._

“ _An evil spirit,” Samandriel said. “Created by Lucifer, or a human soul that has descended into Hell for eternal punishment.”_

“Yes, Cas,” Dean replied at the same time Crowley said, “Yes, alpha.”

No, Dean wouldn't have anything to do with the nasty things Lucifer made. Michael wouldn't approve, he felt sure, not if Cas was this adamant about them.

They came to a stop. The cellar door popped open, and at this point Dean didn't care which of his magical companions was the show off. He just wanted out. Screw the damp, claustrophobic darkness.

Crowley immediately headed off once they were in the cellar, not saying anything, leaving Dean and Cas alone to latch the door. Dean looked at the floor, thinking about how it felt to lie upon a pretty quilt, get rocked to bliss, and bitten.

Cas sniffed the air. “Dean. You enjoyed it. I was happy I wasn't...” He cut off with a sharp, frustrated sigh. “I didn't want to. Violation. You are very courageous.”

“You treated me exactly right,” Dean assured, making Cas link arms with him. “How about we get some hot chocolate from Ellen?”

“I would like that, Dean,” Cas said, smiling. Some of the vague confusion cleared from his pretty blue eyes.

When they entered the kitchen, they only found Kara. She didn't notice them coming in, and Dean held a hand over Cas' stomach to stop him from moving on. Because, it looked like the girl was checking and re-checking jars. Eying the shelves. Wringing her hands as she looked through the potato and onion barrels.

 _I pray to the angel, Castiel_ , Dean prayed. _Does this look like a problem?_

_**She is afraid.** _

Dean stiffened in shock. He hadn't expected Cas to actually answer. In Dean's _head_. Michael did it, but he was the top of the angels...

Dean resigned himself to a lifetime of figuring out his husband. It wasn't like it presented as a terrible chore. More like a constant exploration. Or, unwrapping an ornately decorated present.

Dean let that go, though. He quietly walked over to Kara, and put his hands on her shoulders, being gentle. Sending out a calming scent. Kara, a beta, responded without even turning to see who was touching her, simply that desperate for comfort. “Kara,” Dean said, close to her ear. “We have so much food. So much. You are never going to be hungry, cold, or alone, not ever again. I know how you feel, I do. Before Cas bought me, I was a mess.”

Kara sagged backward on him. Her small, delicate shoulders shook with trying to restrain tears. A valiant effort, but one that would ultimately die. Soon, very soon, Kara would collapse. Dean knew it. He knew it because of his own troubles, because of Cas', and, because of countless little traumatized boys he'd tried to take care of at Sonny's.

“For me, it wasn't hunger. I got used to being hungry.” Dean put an arm around her. “For me, it was being alone. Every time someone bought me I had to wonder if they might be okay. And, each time, they weren't. By the time I came here, I was so jaded.” He hugged Kara a little, feeling her shaking. “I got lucky, and so did you. I can see that words aren't helping you, though. What can I do?”

Kara resumed wringing her hands. “I don't want to upset cook Ellen,” she cried. “I don't. She might make me leave if I don't do right!”

“So, is this about your job?” Dean asked, low and calm. Still putting out the scent.

“N-no! Well, yes!” Kara took a few deep breaths, probably enjoying the relief Dean was sending to her nose. “It's the smells, Dean! The smells! I want to be around them always! The spices, and sugars, the ripening fruit! Bacon cooking! Bread, all warm and fresh!”

Dean turned his head and looked at Cas, whose stricken, sympathetic eyes, glimmered wetness. “Cas? Would you ask Bobby to bring that cot in from the stable? The one he gives the occasional runner boy?”

“I will. Dean, I will get the cot,” Cas swore, and he was out the door in an instant.

Dean gently sat Kara in a chair. “Stay right here,” he said. And, he went down to the cellar again to get a bottle of wine. When he came back up, Kara instantly stood and crowded his space.

“Dean, cook Ellen is so nice. She asks me to sample all the dishes. I eat before anyone else,” she said, looking up at Dean with reddened eyes. “But, she will _surely_ protest if I sleep in her kitchen!”

“Kara, honey.” Dean sat her down once more, and applied a corkscrew to the bottle. “I want you to listen to me. Can you do that?” He spoke carefully, calmly, never letting up on the scent projection of ease and support.

Kara nodded swiftly, fresh tears running down her face.

Those tears cut Dean. Kara's eyes and cheeks would be so sore and hot. Maybe for a day or two. She had a lot of grief and fear to let go of. And, it was entirely possible she'd never completely heal. Wounds on the outside were always easier to deal with than the ones inside.

“Good.” Dean opened the wine, and grabbed a clean measuring cup from the hanging rack over the prep table. He poured. “Here. Drink all of this before letting me talk.” He smiled at her. “You might need it to endure my voice.”

Kara drank swiftly, and finished the small measure just as Cas came in with the cot.

Cas hadn't sent Bobby, just acted.

“All right.” Dean poured again. “How old are you, sweetheart?”

“Sixteen,” she said while Cas walked the cot over to a smaller fireplace.

Sixteen. Just sixteen. Dean remembered being sixteen, of course. A very hard time, when his body went fully into the drive to either present himself, or to use his dick. Confused about everything, certain the world was nothing but a shit storm.

Poor little girl.

“I bet I look like an old man to you,” Dean said, smiling and winking. “And Cas?” He wagged his eyebrows at her, and shielded his mouth with the back of his hand to stage whisper, “Grandfather!”

Kara gave a wet sounding giggle, and covered her mouth quickly. Her charming little blush made her face pinken, even down to her neck.

“Uh-huh.” Dean grinned. “Drink.”

Kara, despite her age, apparently had either been given alcohol before, or sneaked it past someone. Dean would bet it was a regular part of her past meals, because, if you could manage to get spirits into your stomach _before_ eating, even food that had gone bad wouldn't poison you. Poor people kept beer around just because of that. Many of Sonny's 'donated' boys were confused when they didn't get beer before eating. They'd been accustomed to inferior, scavenged food.

“How old does Ellen look to you?” Dean asked, hearing faintly in the background that Cas was choppily ordering someone, maybe Alisha, to bring bed linens and a pillow to the kitchen.

“She's about as old as my...” Kara's lower lip wobbled. “My mom,” she finished, whispering. “She's so _good_ to me.”

“Ellen is a wonderful woman,” Dean agreed at once. “And, she's been running this kitchen for at least ten years. She completely knows what she's doing.” Dean held up a finger, and poured a third time. “But, here's the thing, Kara. Ellen's daughter, Jo? She's an alpha. Have you seen her?”

“The pretty girl with the blonde hair,” Kara said. “She makes me a little nervous. But, she seems nice.”

Kara was calming down, now. Dean's scent, the wine, and just talking about things, were helping.

Dean wondered why Jo made people uneasy. It had taken Kevin constant exposure to Jo before he'd relaxed around her. It was a smaller mystery, so Dean dismissed it quickly. Alphas made everyone nervous, anyway. Jo probably just smelled too much like a wild thing to some people.

“Well, Jo _is_ an alpha, and she's never going to live inside four walls, with a roof over her head,” Dean informed, “much less learn recipes, or how to feed an army. And, Ellen will eventually have to step down as head cook. She's not old, but she's not young, either. If you just tell her you want to be her successor, she will be happy to teach you extra things.”

“You think so?” Kara asked, all hopeful and heartbreaking. She grabbed her apron, and began to wring it instead of her hands. “But, she has a baby! She can teach Sky!”

“Sky won't be ready to learn for a long time,” Dean pointed out. “In sixteen years, Sky _will_ be ready to learn, but Ellen will be in her late sixties. People in that stage of life find it painful to teach others. Their bodies hurt. They forget things. It becomes a chore to carry on a daily routine.” Dean paused to let that sink in, seeing Kara's eyes moving back and forth as she considered. “Ellen needs someone to learn what she knows, and _right now_ , not sixteen years from now.”

Kara nodded, but her eyes were filling up again. “But, Dean, I'm... I'm not _okay_. I know I'm not! I can't stop thinking about food!”

“Honey,” Dean said, pouring yet again, and throwing out extra olfactory goodness, “who better to learn how to cook for others, than someone who loves food?”

Kara went still, her mouth open. Dean could see his logic cementing into her mind.

“Right,” Dean said, nodding, sliding the measuring cup closer to her. “Give you ten years or less, and you'll be running this kitchen. You'll be in charge of making sure that not only are none of us hungry, but that we enjoy what's going into our mouths and stomachs. You'll have full access to the kitchen, the pantry, the cellar. You'll _control_ all this food. You'll do inventory, accept meat from our many sources, do the ordering, direct what is cooked, when to cook it, and how to spice it.” Again, Dean paused for the sake of her full understanding. “You will be the most important person in my husband's holdings. Because, food is the most important thing, and you already know that to the fullest degree.”

Kara swayed in place as Dean's message took root. She looked at him, starry-eyed, pleased and stunned. Dean saw her grab onto the web of ideas he'd wrought, latch on and _clench_.

“Kara,” Dean said, reaching to take both of her hands. “I want you to be Ellen's replacement. You do all you can to learn. I feel confident you can take over Tor-Valen's kitchen, when that time comes.” He met her eyes, smiled, and winked again. “You _will_ succeed. I know you will. Ellen has confidence in you. I think you're her favorite. And, believe me, Ellen doesn't trust people that aren't trustworthy. You're good in _her_ books, kid. You think about that.”

Kara went upright, forcing Dean to rise from the table, too. Dean suddenly had both arms full of crying teenager. Crying, unsteady teenager. He held her tight, rocking her slightly, amazed at how small and fragile she felt against him. What had he said to make her cry?

“Dean, I was there,” she sobbed against his neck. “I was there when he-!” She pushed up against him, crying like she'd die. “ _All that_ _ **blood**_ _, and you never made a sound!_ Your body curling in agony! Colette pouring salt!” Her body spasmed five times, one jerk after another. “Your eyes, _blazing_ in anger!”

Oh. Kara must have had a front row view of the whipping, and she thought about it whenever she saw him. Probably all the time. It had traumatized her. Dean had noticed many children in St. Addams' employ, but he didn't remember Kara specifically. Probably because of the pain.

How many others in the St. Addams holding looked at him every day, thinking about what he'd endured?

Dean kissed Kara's brow, and his arms drew in to hold her even tighter. “I'm sorry you had to watch that. I really am. That had to have made you sick.”

“I...” Kara leaned against Dean, clinging. “ _Seeing_ you, Dean. Seeing you'd rather die than submit... That was when I saw _**I**_ could fight, but I was too late! I was too late!”

Dean fought to hold in his pain, but his face crumpled with it. He couldn't control his scent anymore. He rocked Kara back and forth, overcome with her trauma.

“Momma and Daddy just wasted away,” Kara wailed, her short fingernails scraping Dean's skin as she clenched down. “I couldn't help!”

“Shhhh,” Dean soothed. “Kara, Kara, shhhhhh. They're okay, now. No more hunger, no more pain.” He closed his eyes. This poor thing broke his heart. She needed special attention. He'd be sure to check on her regularly, every day of her life, if proved the need. “Pretty girl, your momma and daddy are resting, now. They're fine. They're all right.”

Dean held Kara, still rocking her slightly, until his arms ached. She quieted, finally, and Dean didn't know if she slept naturally or if she'd fainted, but the end result would be rest. He carried her to the cot, and Cas, who'd stayed with them all this time, pulled the covers down for her. Together, they were able to settle her securely.

“Dean,” Cas said, his voice ultra low, and full of pain.

“I know,” Dean said. His nerves were wrung out. He dared not make eye contact with Cas, not for a little while. He didn't think he could stand to see his grief mirrored back at him. “I think I'll get that friend of hers to stay with her. Do you know who she is?”

“Elizabeth,” Cas said. “Cabin nine. She insisted upon having nine. Lucky number.” Cas sat beside the cot. “I will protect her while you get her friend. I'm an angel. Don't go alone.”

“I'll see if my brother is available,” Dean said. “If not, I'll get Bobby.”

“Sam did not have training scheduled this week,” Cas said. “I expect he is upstairs.”

“You sound better,” Dean observed. He felt a bit of hope, now. And, gladly. His husband simply was too important to be out of commission for long. Dean would shield him as much as possible, though.

“Someone else has worse pain,” Cas explained, running his hand over Kara's fine, smooth hair. “Precious, precious, innocent child...”

Dean paused, thinking of how Michael called _him_ that. The angels in his life adored human beings. Neither one pulled punches when needed, though, that was plain. Michael hadn't cared if Dean used his strength to kill the alpha invader. Cas would kill, too. They were like the wall switches in finer public houses, controlling the light and dark.

Dean left the kitchen and went down the hall. He'd just started up the stairs when Sam called out a greeting from the top.

“Dean! I haven't seen you in a long time, and I hate that,” he said.

Dean shook his head, smiling. Sam had been waiting for him. That felt good. Sam wanted to spend time with him. “Come protect me while I go fetch a person from their cabin,” he replied. “You irksome little hero,” he added, and it made Sam smile back.

Sam came down the stairs two at a time, his long legs suited to the cheating. “My weapons are in Dad's rooms,” he said. “We'll have to detour.”

“Where do you get your energy?” Dean asked.

“I'm young, and you're old,” Sam teased. “Short, too.”

“Sammy, you're freakishly tall,” Dean complained. “Slow down. We're not sprinting to Dad's parlor.” He whacked Sam on the shoulder with one of his fans. “That limp doesn't hinder you much. How was it enough to get discharged?”

“Cold, wet weather makes me stiffen up,” Sam said, shrugging. “Most of the fighting against the Maholak happens near the pole, you know. I was slowing everyone else down.”

No, Dean didn't know anything about the war, or the Maholak. That his well-traveled brother would think he'd be up on the news, seemed strange.

Dean smelled humiliation and regret in Sam's scent, then. Sam was more upset about his injury and discharge than he let on. “What got you?” He asked, curious.

“A bullet,” Sam answered, shocking Dean. “Yeah, I know, it's crazy. But, the Maholak have guns and bullets. That's why they're so dangerous for others. The government is trying to eliminate the scum without resorting to guns, and that's bad. I'm desperate to know how the war is going.”

“I get you,” Dean said quickly, “but, the Gun Purge was supposed to keep people safer, not make it all worse! Ordinary people don't have guns, just farmers!”

“That only means Panomu is using every available soldier, and, that we'll see a draft before long,” Sam said grimly. “Cannon fodder, Dean. But, it's not as if we've got any choice. Those Maholak bastards want to rule the world.” Sam ran a hand through his hair, a nervous, angry gesture. “I hate that I got taken down. But, at least it freed me up to come look for you, right?” He gave Dean a smile that bordered on shy. “Got my brother back.”

Dean smiled back, but he thought Sam was in a weird frame of mind. He had a right to be, of course. Removed from combat, thrown into Dean's household while facing the injuries of their past, then being assigned a duty again...

Yeah. Sam had a right to be off balance.

They were outside John's main door, now. Sam put a hand on the knob. “Before we go in here, I want to tell you to ignore what you're going to see.” Sam opened the door without another word, striding inside John's rooms like he owned them.

John didn't look surprised when they came in without knocking. He had a familiar box on his coffee table, and...

Bright, purple-pink string.

Dean couldn't ignore this. What was Sam thinking? “Why are you making Dad read my letters to you?” Dean whispered, clutching his heart. He recognized the scrolls because of the strings tying them closed. Sonny didn't have expensive ribbons to waste on correspondence, and he'd taught Dean how to make twine out of stinging nettle fiber. Dean had stained the fibers with poke-berry juice to make them pretty.

“Because he needed to see them,” Sam said in an outdoor voice. He grabbed a bow, and a quiver full of arrows. “He needed to see that you never mentioned _what he did_. Young as you were, scared, and in a strange place, and you didn't even point a finger at him. You still loved him.” Sam got a big knife, and strapped it on. “This is how he's getting _my_ forgiveness, Dean. Don't argue with me about it.”

Alpha command from his little brother.

Dean quit looking at his grieving, silent father. He looked Sam in the eyes, pondering whether or not Sam exercised good judgment.

Sam went completely still.

Dean could allow that he had no idea what Sam had been through. He knew John had fallen apart, and probably not even fed Sam properly. Kids don't lie to go into the military on whimsy. And, John likely deserved this punishment.

But, Dean didn't appreciate his father getting knocked down every time he managed to stand up. Sam's timing sucked.

“Dean?” Sam said, just a little too fast. “Holy _crap_ , don't look at me like that.”

“Dad?” Dean said, still keeping Sam's eyes. “Stop reading. That's an order.”

“Dean, _please,_ ” John responded, his voice weak, even broken. “Your brother offered to forgive me, and I need that from him. I owe this to you, anyway. _I should have volunteered_. I should have read them before putting them away, years ago.”

Dean released Sam in order to look at their dad. “Fine, but you go read those with Crowley beside you. You can't be looking out for your own safety while distraught, and reading poison.” Dean crossed over to John, and began piling the scrolls into the big box. He shut it when finished, and handed it to him. “If not Crowley, join Naomi and Zachariah. Understand?” Cas' parents were recovering from their tongue lashing, but they'd accept John's presence. And, once they knew why he'd been sent there, they'd probably feel better about their own failure.

Misery loves company.

“In fact, forget Crowley for now,” Dean decided. “I had to school the elder Novaks about something, and they could probably use your support. We're all in this together.” He took the box back from John, and walked out, heading farther down the hall towards the Novak suite.

“Mother?” Dean called out as he knocked. “Zachariah?”

Zachariah was the one to answer. He looked like he hadn't quit crying more than a few hours previous. And, when he looked at Dean, he had fear, guilt, and loyalty in his reddened gaze. He automatically backed up to let Dean inside.

“Mother,” Dean said, and she was already looking toward him. “My father's penance from Sam is having to read the letters he never allowed him to see. I don't want him alone while he grieves. Would you and Zachariah please help him?”

“Of course, Dean, dear,” she said, standing to motion John into the room. “I understand what he must be feeling.”

“I know,” Dean said, kissing her cheek.

Dean patted Zachariah's back on the way out. “Don't let them make themselves, sick, okay?” He asked the alpha.

“I'll try, Dean,” Zachariah replied. “But...?”

Dean paused. He lifted his eyebrows.

“May _we_ also read the letters?” Zachariah asked. “We know so little of your early life...”

Dean smiled. “Sure. Go ahead. That might help my dad, too.”

“I don't deserve you, Dean,” John mumbled as he sat on a couch Naomi directed him to.

“We say the same thing very often,” Naomi sighed.

Dean met Sam back in the hallway. They fell into step together. Sam was quiet all the way to the kitchen, where Dean showed Cas he had an escort. Cas nodded his approval, so Dean grabbed his cloak. Soon, they were outside, heading for cabin nine.

“What's wrong with that girl?” Sam asked, his voice concerned and quiet.

“Her parents died of starvation, and she's rightfully obsessed with food,” Dean answered. “I told her she would inherit the position of head cook, and she was very relieved. However, she happened to be one of the maids employed by an alpha the Novaks recently had sent to Monmouth. And, she witnessed something very bad. It's come back to haunt.”

“What?” Sam asked.

Dean didn't want to go into the incident. He just didn't. He was weary of it. “I'll tell you later. One thing at a time.” Dean stepped up to cabin nine, and knocked.

A tall, pretty teenager nearing her twenties answered the door. Omega, Dean identified. She had very, very long, blond hair, and-. Dean blinked, and looked twice. The girl had lilac eyes. “Wow,” he said, losing his couth. “My apologies. You have the prettiest eyes.”

The girl grinned. “I hear that all the time,” she said. “What can I do for you, Mr. Novak?” Her eyes slid to Sam. “Mr. Winchester,” she added.

“Just Sam,” Sam said quickly. He had the goofiest smile, and Dean realized his brother had been knocked down by this girl.

Well, she was tall enough to come up to Sam's neck, so...

“Would you pack a little bag, and come to the manor?” Dean asked. “Kara had something of a breakdown, and she's resting, but I don't want her to be alone when she wakes up. She might possibly feel disoriented.”

Elizabeth gasped. “Come in! It'll take me just a moment. I'll hurry.”

They were ushered inside. Dean looked around, aware his brother was also looking for personality clues. Individualized things people kept around, told one a lot.

The cabin, same layout as the Harvelles, was warm. Several large axes decorated the walls, along with embroidered tapestries. Those were lovely and intricate. Someone had spent a lot of time making these... “You were in my knitting circle,” Dean remembered out loud. “You sat in the back. When it got quiet, you'd sing and fill the silence. You have a magnificent voice.”

“Oh, thank you, sir,” Elizabeth said, rushing around and throwing things into a sack. “I want to tell you how impressed I was at the way you handled the master's brother. He was a lout, but you and Master Novak straightened him up.”

“He'd had a case of The Jealousy too long,” Dean explained. “He's okay now. Helping the poor with Father Sean.”

“You don't have to rush,” Sam said gently. “She's asleep, and your master is sitting with her.”

“Oh, of course he would be,” Elizabeth sighed. She stuffed a skirt into the bag. “Master Novak is exceeding kind. Scary sometimes, but kind.”

Dean grinned. “You saw him throw down on Cornelius Errgard.”

“Yes. I was out gathering wood, and saw it all from the opposite of where you stood, sir.”

“Did you make these tapestries?” Sam asked.

“I did, Mr. Winchester,” Elizabeth answered proudly. “I was apprenticing with a woman very proficient in textile arts when I presented, and she was so amazingly kind and generous that she followed me to the omega house I was taken to. She ended up staying after I left, to educate more omega females.”

Dean, warmed by news of generous people, nodded and smiled. “Where was your omega house, Elizabeth?”

“Central Panomu,” she said. “In Coral District. There's a very large city, there, called Roemire. We didn't have fan instruction for anything but communication, so I was pleased to take your defense classes these past few months. I stayed in the back so the smaller omegas could see better. You probably didn't notice me.”

Dean accessed his memories quickly. They were vivid, so he easily found her. “You wore a black, eyelet dress to every lesson,” he said. “Your hair was braided, and piled on top of your head. You learned very fast.”

Elizabeth stopped moving. Her pretty eyes went damp at the corners. “You do remember.”

“I'm amazing like that,” Dean said with a wink, and she giggled.

“You collect axes?” Sam asked quickly. “Some of these are antiques. One of them is from Roemire, if I'm not mistaken.”

Dean smiled to himself. He wasn't a threat to Sam's prospective romance, and Sam _had_ to know that.

“Omegas aren't allowed weapons, but no one protests if an omega chops wood,” Elizabeth said leadingly. “And, yes, that large ax over the mantle _is_ from Roemire. I traded with a grizzled old alpha for it. He liked my tapestry depicting sea battle between the Maholak and the Xians.”

Sam's large body went all alpha-approval. The scent he shot out into the room was pure sanction, even pride. “Good for you,” he said firmly. “Governor Uriel approved omega weapon-training for the Novak household. Would you like to learn the bow?”

“Are you offering to teach me, Mr. Winchester?” Elizabeth asked, smiling.

“Yes. Absolutely, yes,” Sam answered.

“I'm free every day after five,” she said. “That's when I usually get finished making yarn.” She pointed to a carved walking wheel. “I'm the person who supplies the yarn to the household, and all the servants. Master Novak purchased me specifically for that, but he allows me a free hand in other pursuits.” She tied her bag shut, and got a key off her dining table. “I'm ready, gentlemen.”

Dean and Sam escorted Elizabeth back to the manor. She very quickly took over for Castiel.

Dean hated the heartbroken look on his alpha's face.

“Sam, would you stay with Elizabeth and Kara tonight?” Dean asked. “Get a couple of sofas from unused parlors, and make camp? We have security failures every so often, and I don't want these two undefended.”

“Of course I will,” Sam said, whip-crack fast. He patted his knife hilt. “Nothing's getting by me, Dean. I swear.”

“I have every confidence in the hero of my childhood,” Dean said, smiling. He threaded his arm through Cas'. “My little brother could slay a dragon by himself.” He turned, and Cas began walking them for the door. “Have dinner with me tomorrow, Sam,” he invited. “Family dining hall, okay? Meg will show you.”

“Okay, Dean,” Sam said, sounding very pleased.

Of course he was pleased. Dean had enforced time with a pretty omega girl, then, let it be known they would later have one-on-one time.

(__________________________________________________________________________)

Cas' sleep was utter shit. Dean made a decision that it would be better to awaken him. Cas couldn't be actually resting, not with all that tossing and thrashing. So, Dean woke him up at four, pushed him into the water closet, and waited with a towel in his hands. When Cas stumbled out, bleary and dispirited, Dean dried his hands, dressed him in silence, and made him go with him to the library.

Dean put Cas in a chair by the first fireplace. He built a fire, using a steel striker and a magnesium rod provided by a box on the mantle. Dean then checked to make sure all the doors were locked. They had matters to discuss, and Dean thought it might help his mate to get more weight off his chest in some privacy. He dragged a chair closer to Cas, put it opposite, and dropped his feet into Castiel's lap.

“They look bad, and I'm sorry,” Dean said, pointing to his feet. “I've already replaced the calluses Ellen sloughed off. But, this is me.” He then pointed to Cas. “And, I want to know Castiel Novak. Spill something. Anything.”

Cas looked at Dean's disgraceful feet. Slowly, he covered the tops of them with his hands, bringing warmth back to Dean's skin. “Your feet are beautiful,” he argued. “So honest. I wish others were as honest as you.” He rubbed deeper warmth into Dean's skin as he spoke, his beautiful blue eyes gaining the softness of deep thought. “Me? I'm not very complicated, Dean. I'm an angel.”

“Right.” Dean let his head drop back. Except for the fire beside of them, they had no light. It felt intimate. Close and warm. “You can't tell me angels aren't complicated. So far, nothing in God's work isn't.”

“How do you mean?” Cas asked softly.

Dean smiled. “Cas. Once I knew someone had actually _designed_ everything I see?” He chuckled. “Look all around you. I know a tree when I see one, but they're all different. Even the ones that make the same fruit aren't really the same, right? So much thought and brilliance, every tiny detail on display, and no one really thinks about it. Or, if they do, they don't speak of it.”

Cas sighed. “You see it. Why don't more people?” He began rubbing Dean's arches, softly but firmly, and it felt good. “Kahlil Gibran wrote of trees.” Cas cleared his throat, and looked Dean in the eyes. “Trees are poems the earth writes upon the sky. We fell them down and turn them into paper so that we may record our emptiness.”

“Wow.” Dean considered that quote, finding it dismal. Cas' mental state really _was_ bad right now, if thoughts of trees instantly put him to how piss-poor humanity displayed.

Time to re-direct again. Dean thought he might have to take lessons from Meg.

“Everything else aside, right now I want to point something out to you.” It was important that Cas be receptive to this talk, so Dean continued to give Cas all the eye contact he could manage.

Cas nodded.

“Good.” Dean used his biggest toe, and, the second one, to pinch Cas' arm a little. “Meg is your best friend. She feels so much for your sake. I want to cover her in good things.” He leveled a serious look at Cas, or, he hoped he did. “You give that scrappy butler all the attention you want. Forget class, forget distinction, forget all of that shit your parents and society enforce. Both of you deserve better.”

Cas slowly nodded his agreement. “Thank you, Dean. I have relied upon Meg for years. And, she's never steered me wrong. Her loyalty is without boundary.”

“You said it.” Dean arranged his tired body into some semblance of repose, and sighed. “I can see, hear, and smell that you feel a little better. Are you ready for another shock, or should I wait?”

Castiel groaned, long and loud. “Heavenly Father, Dean.” He put his face in his hands.

“You just answered me,” Dean said. “I'll wait. It's a good shock, but I'll let you recover a bit. It's my last secret. Won't be for much longer, I guess.”

Cas dropped his hands away. “No,” he said. “Get it all out. I'm not so miserable that I can't...” Cas hunched over. “Dean?”

Dean thought back to his ill-fated honeymoon.

 

 _ **Your husband is safe, Child,**_ _Michael said._ _**He's trying to work up the nerve to face you. He fears he harms you. He prays to me, too**_ **.**

 _ **Oh.**_ _Dean sagged in relief._ _**You talk to him, then?**_

 _ **He doesn't expect me to personally answer him,**_ _Michael replied._ _**His faith is strong, but he was taught not to expect personal attention. It is enough for him merely to unburden his heart**_ **.**

 

Dean decided to let go. His unfortunate husband could only benefit from knowing Michael kept personal tabs on his family. And, Cas needed to know prayers could actually be answered.

“I talk to Michael.” he said.

Castiel lifted his weary, blue eyes. “Thank you for that, Dean,” he said. All the sincerity in the world bleed through his tone.

Dean felt so bad, then. Cas wasn't 'getting' it. How could a man, no, _angel_ , of such faith, be so closed off to his own religion?

“No, Cas,” he said. “I really talk to Michael. Michael is awesome.”

Cas stared at Dean for a long few seconds, the only sound in the room, their fire crackling. “I don't understand,” he admitted.

Dean sighed. What was confusing about this, for Cas? Dean thought his words pretty clear. Obvious, even. “The way you and I are talking right now?” He paused. “Give and take? That's how I speak to him. I prayed to him, and he answered. He's listening to me right now. I can sense it.”

Cas blinked.

Dean waited for Cas to say something, but a whole minute ticked by with Cas just sitting there. Staring. The soft, admiring look in his eyes, told Dean worlds even while leaving him ignorant. Maybe he was looking at Dean's soul, or something, since he could actually _do_ that.

That would never not be strange.

“Cas, Michael not only hears you, he cares about you,” Dean said gently, trying again. “He watches over your family exactly as you all think. I'd have told you this before now, but there were so many reasons not to. I didn't think you could handle it, firstly. Then, you had a bad reaction to being outed as an angel.”

Cas blinked a few more times in rapid succession. “Dean...” Cas swallowed. Hard. He straightened up, and Dean began to feel hopeful. “Are you telling me you know Michael personally?”

“Yes, Cas,” Dean said, forcing patiece, projecting calm. “He's the reason I had the strength to get through our bonding ceremony. And, he helped me overcome that alpha that climbed the gutter to get into the bedroom.”

Cas began to smile.

“Well, _that's_ not the reaction I expected,” Dean admitted. He dropped his feet to the floor, wondering if he'd done something right, or something wrong.

“Dean, I think it's wonderful you have so much faith,” Cas said. “It's good for you.”

Dean sighed. _Michael, what do I do?_ He prayed.

 _Accept his innocence,_ Michael answered. _Does he really need to know, right now, that we experience each other?_

Dean thought it might not be best for Cas, after all. He'd try again at some later point, when Cas' head was on right. He sat up, and leaned forward to take Cas' hands. “Want to pray with me, Cas?” He asked.

“I would love that.” Cas squeezed Dean's hands before bowing his head. “Holy Michael, thank you for watching over my family, and for taking care of Dean. Please be with us in this time of war and strife. Amen.”

“Amen,” Dean repeated. Michael's gentle amusement made him smile.

Cas relaxed back. He rolled his head to gaze into the fire. “I'm glad you know about me,” he said softly. “The burden of keeping that secret is lessened by the fact you share it. By the fact it makes no difference to you. I didn't want our union contaminated, but I didn't have any way out...”

“I know, Cas,” Dean assured him, keeping his tone low and quiet. “Your mother and father had no idea how much it bothered you, either. I spoke to them about it.”

Cas closed his eyes. “That was good of you. And, correct.”

“Partly,” Dean agreed. “I upset them. But, they're okay.”

Cas frowned slightly. “Why upset my parents? It isn't their fault they produced something like me.”

“I didn't know that, at the time,” Dean answered.

Damn. Cas still stubbornly went on with thinking he was a monster. Nothing Dean said or did, stopped Cas from loathing himself. “Everything will be okay. I promise.”

“I don't know why, but I think I believe you,” Cas murmured.

Dean smiled, and let the warm silence of the room descend. As he suspected, taking Cas out of his room and into this one, calmed his alpha. Familiar surroundings only give comfort if no pain can be remembered there. Cas had visual reminders of unpleasant things in his bedroom.

When Cas dozed off, Dean got up and tried the last, remaining bell pull. Dry-rotted, it hit the floor in nearly a perfect coil.

Why was his life full of broken bell pulls?

Dean opened the door nearest to the stairs, and waited. Soon, a bedraggled looking Alisha appeared, yawning.

Oops.

“Good morning, sir,” the girl greeted. “I apologize for my tardiness. I'd only just arisen.”

“It's fine,” Dean said. “I just wanted to place an order to the kitchen, and have breakfast and tea sent up when it's ready.”

Alisha nodded. “Very good. Cook Ellen and Kara are already preparing sausage and eggs for the night shift guards. I'll send one of our regular maids up with a goodly portion, yes?”

Dean admired the way Alisha spoke. He could emulate her, too. Most of Cas' domestics had better speech than the usual, but she sounded as if she'd been well educated. He'd think about the young woman's speech patterns, and try to use them. She was smooth-spoken.

Ignoring a resource wasn't possible, not when he wanted to be a good mate for an important alpha.

“That's wonderful,” Dean said with feeling. His stomach was growling. “When you finish relaying my wishes, you set someone to your daily tasks through Meg, and you take the day off. Go back to bed.”

Alisha smiled broadly. “You're very generous, sir. It's been ages since I had a day off. I may indeed heed the summons of my soft bed.”

Dean smiled. “Whatever pleases you.”

Dean waited until Alisha started back down the stairs, then shut and locked the door again. No sooner did he return to his chair, a quiet knock came. He went back.

Crowley stood in the hall with a familiar quilt, and Ruto and Sphinx eased by him. They entered the library, _instantly_ claiming fireplace space. “Your stud didn't sleep well, you both got up before God did, and your hot father is a hot mess,” the grouchy tailor said, all grumble and bluntness. He thrust the quilt at Dean. “I love your familiars, but the noises they make when you two slip off? Irritating. If I didn't have opium in your daddy, he wouldn't be resting. Keep up with your pets, buttercup.”

“Sorry,” Dean said, throwing the quilt over his shoulder. “They take off together at times, and Ruto's so sneaky I forget about him. I got so used to him shadowing me, and then vanishing, that I just assume he's wherever I am. And, Sphinx is as quiet as the inside of a cave.”

Crowley nodded, satisfied. He turned to go.

“Crowley?” Dean asked. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “How did you know? About...” He jerked his head toward the sleeping master of the house.

“Dean.” Crowley shook his head, smiling. Using a finger, he tapped beside one of his eyes. “I can see his pretty halo,” Crowley whispered back. “His wings are very carefully concealed, but not that swirling nimbus of indigo and silver. I knew when I first saw him walking down the street, that he was special. Time here with him proves it in so many ways.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “He _is_ special.” He cast a glance back at Cas, wishing he could see the halo.

“Don't be jealous,” Crowley said quietly. “It's not because I'm a witch that I can see his halo. I see it because I'm always on my guard against the supernatural. It surprises me your father can't see the halo, actually.”

“I hope he _won't_ ,” Dean admitted.

“Darling, give him some credit. A man who believes in God will eventually accept God's own.” Crowley turned to go. “Your breakfast is coming. Make sure your stud eats.”

Dean put the quilt on a table, and met the maid with the tray. “Thanks...?”

“Felicity, sir,” the girl said, curtsying. “Will there be anything else?”

“No, no, this is fine, Felicity,” Dean answered. “You can do whatever other duties you have. I'll be the one to take the tray back to the kitchen.”

“As you wish, sir,” she answered, smiling.

Dean shut and locked the door once more. He spread the quilt over Cas' legs, then put the tray across his lap.

Cas woke up while Dean was pouring hot tea. He looked down at all the heavy silver, and white crockery balanced across his legs, blinking a couple of times. “You're awfully confident of me,” he said. “Hot things near my privates?”

“You're protected,” Dean said, smiling. “I wouldn't spill anything on you.” He pressed a cup of tea into Cas' hand. “Don't worry about feeding me today, Cas. I like it, but I don't exactly need it. Not anymore.” And, that was the perfect truth. Dean liked being fed, but he didn't feel it posed as intrinsic to his personality, now.

Sighing, Cas tried his tea. “Pull your chair closer, and eat with me, then, Dean.”

Dean ate for a few minutes, watching Cas pick at his meal. His husband drank a lot of tea, but wasn't interested in eating meat. The eggs he relented on, and the bread. An occasional tremor went through his body, making it hard for him to eat.

“You're so down in the dumps,” Dean said. “There could be a dozen reasons why. So, tell me one. I know you didn't like getting outed as an angel, so don't start with that one. Something else.”

If Dean could just get Cas to _talk_.

Cas slumped a little. He clenched his hands into fists. The smell he put off hit Dean as pure dread. “Dean, I'm so frightened I'm going to kill you. You want children...”

“Michael isn't going to let me die,” Dean said calmly. “Not from childbirth.” It was important Cas believe this. Without the big 'Michael reveal', it would be very difficult to convince him.

Cas closed his eyes. “I...”

“You think he's let your family prosper like this only to drop you _now_?” Dean asked, projecting his belief as hard as he could. “Have a little faith in the guy, c'mon. You'll hurt his feelings.”

Cas dropped his cup onto the tray, and covered his face with his hands. “Why do you have to be so _wonderful_?” He asked. “ _Why_ , Dean? Why can't you be impatient, or...” Cas let his hands fall away from his face, and Dean was glad, because he'd been talking all muffled.

“Why can't you have bad habits? Why can't you _occasionally_ fail at something?” Cas' eyes held more than a touch of hysterical outrage. “ _Why do you love me, Dean_? I'm an angel. I'm supposed to be loving _you_!”

Dean smiled gently. “Well, don't you?” He asked.

Cas' body froze. His expression collapsed away from indignation, went utterly blank.

Then, Dean became the center of a storm.

“ _ **Yes**_!” Cas stood up, and the tray fell onto the floor with a loud 'braannnggg' and the crash of breaking porcelain. “ _ **Yes, Dean**_ , _**I do**_!” He grabbed Dean by his shirt collar, hauled him up only to fall back in his chair. This forced Dean to straddle Cas' hard, wiry, shaking body.

Beneath Dean, Cas was a hot, vibrating, force of nature.

“It's _indecent_ how much I love you! Improper! I'm a filthy angel, just _**filthy**_ , for thinking the things I do! For wanting you like no angel _ever_ should!” Cas took Dean's shirt in his hands, and ripped it open like it was tissue paper.

The second Dean's skin lay exposed, Cas began touching. “I didn't know love and lust went together like this,” he growled. “I didn't _know_ that you could make me _feel_. How _**dare**_ you make me feel things, Dean!” His gliding, gripping hands were everywhere at once, making Dean gasp, and arch into the sweet contact. “I was a numb, miserable, sleepwalking wreck, until _**you**_ came into my life with smiles, and silk, and long eyelashes! Your stupid green eyes and honest, bare feet!”

Dean's world lurched to one side. He was suddenly on his back, on the dusty rug, his pets fleeing for cover. A teacup went rolling as Cas straddled Dean. “I'm _infuriated_ you won't let me sleep!” Cas' face was an inch away, now, and he did look pretty mad. But, he didn't _smell_ mad, and Dean had no fear.

“I can't sleep while beside of you, and when I leave you I _still_ can't sleep!” Cas raged on, letting go of Dean to grip his hair in his hands.

Dean knew Cas didn't mean 'sleep' as in actually resting. Cas meant sleeping while awake. Sleeping while he did his duty.

Sleeping in order to live up to his surname.

Hammering came at the door, hard and fast. “Castiel!”

Naomi.

Cas wrenched his upper body in the direction of the closed and locked entryway, but stayed right on top of Dean. He gave the door a death glare that should have withered a fifty foot oak, his arms falling down from his head only to go rigid. Dean was shocked the door didn't burst into flame. “Mother!” He snarled out. “I love you! Mind your own business!”

Dean heard her gasp.

But, the hammering stopped.

Cas' attention swiftly redirected back to Dean, and his blue eyes glowed like a full, winter moon. Unnatural, and _beautiful_.

Dean felt awed, seeing Cas' eyes all lit up. Angel, he reminded himself. Angel, angel, angel. He didn't have to see the halo, or the wings, apparently. Just those pretty eyes glowing with God's power. Over him, a creature of amazing strength.

Dean was married to fantastical being.

No, better. _Mated_ to a fantastical being.

He really ought to start tacking on the 'tiel' when thinking about his alpha angel.

“If I could abandon everyone, take you out of here, and bob you upon my knot, we would have been gone _months_ ago,” Castiel swore, his voice so deep and dirty that Dean's omega gland swelled up against his prostate.

Hot damn. This was the kind of shit Dean wanted to hear.

“I've never been so frustrated and furious _in my life_!” Cas shouted. His body was like a plucked bow string, his eyes still burning bright and glorious.

Dean, looking up into that handsome face, considered what it cost his husband to always be in control. He wasn't the kind of alpha to enjoy ordering others around.

Cas just wanted to live with his bees.

Sexy talk later, then. Cas needed Dean right now. Needed some control back. He'd snapped, admitting his love when he thought it shameful, something to keep quiet.

“ _It's indecent how much I love you! Improper! I'm a filthy angel, just **filthy** , for thinking the things I do! For wanting you like no angel ever should!” _

Castiel was an angel at war with himself. Between human and angel, not comfortable with either, and even born an alpha, at that. _Anyone_ would feel daunted, living as Cas did.

“You're not mad,” Dean corrected, gentle, soft. “You're being denied your mate, and it's making the alpha in you snap and snarl.” He smiled, and put his hand up to run fingers through Cas' messy, soft hair. Reassuring him.

“ _It's indecent how much I love you!_

The words sank in to full depth, and Dean writhed with happiness. Overflowed with it. He smelled his joy, and couldn't contain it.  Had no reason to try.

_Cas loved him._

This was the personal love Dean had been waiting for. Waited for it his entire life, without even knowing. Only getting the revelation after bonding to Cas, and panicking over the possibility he'd have to be like a spider in order to survive.

Cas needed him.

Cas couldn't fall asleep while he had Dean in his life.

Couldn't be numb.

“ _Don't you dare soothe and coat me with your love, Dean_ ,” Cas commanded, trying to be stern. But, his voice cracked in giving that order. “Dean, stop it!” He bent back over Dean, fisting his collar.

“I can't help it, Cas,” Dean said, shaking his head, and, smiling like an idiot.

“Dean, I can't be mad at you if you _don't quit loving me_!” Cas bared his teeth.

Dean thought that was adorable.

Cas' little, alpha incisors, were adorable.

Cas loved him.

“Damn it, Dean!” Cas' voice was trembling, trying to soften. Above Dean, he was shaking. “I wasn't supposed to feel... I wasn't supposed to feel _anything_.”

“I know,” Dean said, stroking his hair. Here came the real, honest moment of Cas letting go of all the shit he'd endured. Now, he shared his burden with someone other than his parents, or, his long-jealous brother. “I know, hadja. But, you're human, _too_. Humans feel things. Let it all go. You're getting better, I swear.”

Scowling, Cas kicked a leg out, and shoved the mess of the tray away from them. Slowly, eyes back to normal, but leaking, he lay down beside of Dean on the floor. Even as Dean reached for his hand, Cas met him.

The alpha managed to be petulant and difficult, even while asking for Dean's help.

Cas loved him.

“You think I'm human, too?” Cas asked in the falling quiet. They were both on their backs, so it seemed as if Cas spoke to the ceiling. “Why can't I see that?”

Maybe he was speaking to the ceiling, though, Dean considered. Because, it sounded like Cas might be asking God as well as Dean.

Dean hoped God would answer Cas, but in the meantime, he'd give it a go. “Because your parents were terrified someone would hurt you. Because, they kept a tight hold on you.” Dean squeezed Cas' hand. “They couldn't have done any differently, but they regret it. And, they are _so proud_ of you, Cas.”

“Are they?” Cas whispered. “They never say so.”

No, Naomi and Zachariah weren't exactly free with praise, not to their sons. It was telling in their personalities. Dean doubted either of them had heard a lot of praise, growing up.

“They're not perfect. They don't know you need the encouragement, because, when they look at you, all they see is how strong and ideal you are.” Dean squeezed Cas' hand again. “Don't worry. I know you're not actually perfect. I used to think so. Glad you're not.”

“ _You're_ perfect,” Cas shot back, irritable, and needing something to laugh at.

Cas loved him.

“That, for instance,” Cas said, sniffing. “It's like I'm a real angel when I feel... _**that**_ , from you. I have just enough heavenly heritage to know people should be praying to me for help, or giving me respect. No one ever does. Because, I'm a filthy angel. Who lies.”

Dean closed his eyes, filling with the determination to break through Cas' feelings of worthlessness. And, he'd certainly play dirty if he had to. _I pray to the angel, Castiel,_ Dean prayed.

Cas whimpered.

Being prayed to felt damn good, and Cas couldn't resist listening. He'd confessed it, so Dean used it. _My own, personal angel_ , Dean went on. _Castiel, thank you for taking me out of hell_.

Cas let out a long sigh. The room filled with the scent of his surrender. “I think you walked us both out, Dean.”

They dwelt in silence, then, the kind that befalls when all the crashing of a monument subsides. Shock waves done, dust settling.

Dean, confident Cas was finally on the mend, closed his eyes, and listened to the fire crackling.

Cas loved him.

 

 

 


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's hard to say 'good-bye'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is where the story gets it's first division, at least. The companion to this is called Fen-Taven, and I will begin posting it next. Thanks to all of you for reading and reviewing. I hope this last chapter solves a few hanging questions.

Dean felt trapped. He couldn't move, except for his head. The sun was shining, now...

Oh. That explained things. “Ruto and Sphinx,” he said. “At this point I wouldn't be a bit surprised if one of _you_ covered us with the quilt, but did you have to pin us down with it, too?”

Cas gave a heartfelt groan. “I covered us,” he confessed. “They only trapped us in one place.” He sat up and physically removed their animal sentries from the quilt. “If you want more attention, ask,” he scolded mildly.

“They understand you,” Dean said. “Do you know how amazing that is?”

“ _You_ understand _them_ , so no, I don't know why that's amazing.” Cas yawned behind his hand.

Dean scratched his head, and pushed down the quilt so he could eventually get up. “I'm really regretting telling Felicity I'd take the tray down, because your boorish manners made a mess of it.”

Cas cast an eye at the scattered, broken stuff before giving Dean a deliberate, haughty shrug.

Dean laughed. “You don't fool me.”

“You've proven that.” Cas offered Dean his hand. “Shall we graze in the kitchen?”

 

Cas loved him.

 

Cas' eyebrows pulled _in_ as he pulled Dean _up_. “Dean, you're going to turn me into a sap.”

“Don't be wonderful, then.” Dean dusted himself off, and coughed. “Sleeping on that dirty carpet was stupid. _We're_ stupid.”

“God knows,” Cas agreed.

Dean got the tray while Cas cleaned up the broken cup. The crockery otherwise survived the fall. Dean saw a spoon had to be missing. After five whole minutes, both of them searching, they found it behind a chair cushion.

“How?” Cas asked while looking at the shiny silver.

“Okay, angel, if that spoon talks to you, I'm officially done,” Dean joked. “Out of here. _You_ can take care of my wounded family. I'll put my baby horse on my back, and hike.”

Cas snorted out a laugh. “The spoon doesn't talk,” he promised. He held it up, and wiggled it. “Except to say 'why do you abuse me so'?”

“No, that's what the cup said.”

“The cup can't say anything, because I've murdered it.”

“Fair point.” Smiling, Dean held the tray out. “I'll carry.”

“There might not be more survivors if you don't,” Cas said. “As it is, I can feel your shirt's resentment, and lingering fear.”

Dean bent his head to laugh. Cas was on an upswing, and it was _wonderful_. His playful side, delivered with such deadpan focus, only made it _better_. “It knows where all clothes go to die. It saw ruined clothes going into your fireplace.”

They grinned like fools at each other before both losing control of their humor. Dean had to set the tray down again for fear of dumping it. When they finally, finally sobered, Dean picked it back up. Cas unlocked the door and turned the handle only to get a double armload of Meg, who was falling backward.

“Meg!” Castiel stood her upright. She blinked, and shook her head.

“Fell asleep,” Meg explained. “Your parents wanted someone to monitor you, and I was the only one with enough balls.”

Cas eyed her sideways. “Does everyone think I was up here hurting Dean?”

“No. They think you were up here pounding him in a completely different way...” Meg leered. “Which, you know, you should be. Really.”

Dean sniggered.

Cas put a hand over his eyes.

Meg looked at Dean's ruined shirt. “Are they right?”

“No,” Dean told her firmly. “You can report we're fine. We didn't consummate our bonding. We were letting off steam.”

“Good. _I'm glad_.” Meg winked at Cas before heading for the stairs.

“I can't live with my bees, I can't live with my bees,” Cas chanted. Then, muttering, “We're the house gossip today.”

“Let's make it good, then,” Dean suggested. He handed the tray to Cas, and then pulled the pin from Cas' cravat knot. A few, well directed tugs had the thing sliding free. “Oh, Cas. I hate that you hide this throat. I want to bite it.” He wound the cravat around his wrist, and took the tray back.

Cas eyed Dean's neck for five whole seconds. “I _always_ want to bite _your_ neck,” he confessed. “Why did you just wind my tie around your wrist?”

“It shows ownership.” Now, it was Dean's turn to wink at Cas. “It shows I'm pleased about it, too.”

“I'm never going to know the full extent of your culture, am I?” Cas asked as they started walking for the stairs. “I'll be ninety years old, and you'll come into the room pulling a bear on a sleigh to show you hate it when I leave the toilet seat up.”

Dean dropped the tray. Everything went crashing down the stairs in a cascade of tinkling, clanging and shattering. But, Dean barely heard it over the sound of his own laughter, and when Cas joined in, they echoed off the walls.

Damn. When Cas gave himself permission to let go, he really let go. Dean _loved_ it.

Dean loved Castiel.

“Yes, turning into a sap,” Cas wheezed, wiping tears from his face. “I don't care. I've worked hard. And, I'd like to point out you're the one with boorish manners, now. We have soiled shards strung all the way down.”

This time, the mess wasn't solved in five minutes. Only the tray and silverware survived.

In the lower hall, Naomi, Zachariah, John and Sam were standing. Waiting.

“Mother, really,” Cas tutted.

Naomi blushed a little. “What was I supposed to think? All that crashing and thudding over our heads! Shouting!” She looked at what once had been a very elegant breakfast setting. “I kept the precious things locked away until you were out of the house.”

“I know.” Cas looked so, so serious, but Dean could smell his humor. “I'm why you couldn't have nice things.”

Sam smothered a chuckle. Poorly.

Naomi's eyes began to sparkle as she looked at her stone-faced son. Her lips curled. She took in the ruin of Dean's shirt, and covered her mouth, looking away.

“I love you too, Mother,” Cas said, and he kissed her cheek.

“Go have a bath drawn,” she said, mock-stern. “You're covered in house dust and spider webs.”

“You like spider webs,” Dean said, forcing his face into absolute sobriety.

“Dean _Novak_ , you aren't fooling anyone,” she said, finally laughing.

Dean grinned. “Yes, Mother,” he said, and he kissed her other cheek.

Cas offered the tray to Zachariah, who accepted it after a second's worth of confusion. “Father, it is settled that Dean and I cannot be trusted with trays. Remind people of this.”

Zachariah smiled. “Oh, I will. At your current rate, the crockery will be nothing more than sand upon reaching the kitchen.”

John heaved a sigh. “Hand it over. I'll bury the shit, or dump it into the privy. Future archaeologists will wonder who was the klutz.”

Dean, glad everyone had picked up on their hopeful, happy mood, linked his arm through Cas'. “Husband, dear?”

“Yes?” Cas was smiling at him.

“Mother has a point. We're dirty.”

“Mother always has a point, but she's perfectly correct,” Cas agreed. “She's usually right, too.”

“Go, the pair of you,” Naomi ordered, pointing and smiling. “I'm glad to see you having fun, but you smell.”

Dean made it a point to sniff Cas as they were walking away. Cas copied him. “I don't know what she's talking about,” Cas said. “All I smell is a righteous man.”

Dean grinned. “You're such an angel, Cas.”

“ _You're_ an angel,” Cas said.

 

(_________________________________________________________________________)

 

“Hey.” Dean sat up straighter in the tub. “I haven't seen Kevin since we got married. And, I like that kid. How did I forget about him?”

“People under stress forget things,” Cas answered. “You have a piece of egg white stuck to your shoulder.”

Dean found the food, and flicked it off. “But, it's Kevin! And, I thought he was hanging out with your parents, anyway!”

“Kevin has become Sam's friend. They eat together a lot when Sam isn't actively working his men. And, when he's not with Sam, he's with Jo.” Cas washed his face quickly. “Kevin is growing up. He still needs you, Dean, but he's finding out who he is. Let him do it.”

“Yes, Cas,” Dean relented. “Damn, I feel bad, though.”

“You care about others. You can be forgiven for focusing on your own life. Besides, you've spent the last few months training omegas how to fight.”

“I know, but-.”

“Dean.”

Dean waited.

“Good.” Cas smiled at him. “Kindly remember that I could barely keep you awake for eating after all that omega fan training. Your heat? Collapsing before the wedding because of my stupidity? The chaos Julian Wexley is causing us? Twice being attacked, once on the grounds, once in this very bedroom.” He shook his head. “And you wonder about losing track of your people?”

Dean stared at the side of the tub. Cas was right. They were in a shit storm of mess, and he couldn't keep up. Hell, he'd lost track of _Sam_ , and he loved Sam. He wanted to know Sam.

“You're thinking about your brother. You're having dinner with him tonight.”

Dean looked at the clock. It was nearly two in the afternoon.

Dean felt torn. He wanted to bask in Cas' love for him, in their mutual love. He wanted to nurture it. Water it, make it grow. It was wonderful. All he'd ever wanted without knowing he wanted it. But, he wanted to be with Sam, too. He barely knew his own brother.

“Dean, I'm not going anywhere,” Cas said softly. “I'll spend my time planning Wexley's trap, with Crowley. When you catch up, we'll talk.”

“Please tell me that's an order,” Dean whispered. “It lets me off the hook.”

“It was an order before you asked,” Cas said, chuckling.

Relieved, Dean smiled at Cas. He finished his wash-up, and got out of the tub.

“Dean, your beautiful backside is torturous,” Cas informed. “I want to bite it. My teeth marks should be on each, perfect cheek.”

“It's only because I don't want to get myself in trouble that I don't back up and let you bite,” Dean chuckled.

“I'm grateful for your sense of self-preservation,” Cas replied dryly. “Nevertheless, it's a good idea to get dressed. My increased awareness of your earthly beauty is no less admiring than the quality of your golden soul.”

“Okay, that's my clue to hurry.” Dean chose his favorite clothing. “Is it okay to be on the grounds if I have Sam?”

“Sam and your father,” Cas said, relaxing back. “I know they get on like oil and water, but I trust them to look out for you no matter what.”

“All right.” Dean put on his white obi. “Do I have to wear-?”

“No. No one will ever force you to wear shoes again,” Cas vowed. “Be who you are, Dean.”

“Are you reading my mind?”

Cas' eyes slid toward him in a guilty way. “I might be,” he answered. “I'll make an effort to stop.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “You can turn it on and off?”

“...yes. It's been a horrible, horrible temptation to resist. Until today, I never have caved.”

Dean smiled. “It's part of the prayer thing, isn't it.”

“Yes.” Cas gave him a weak smile full of chagrin.

“And, you gave in today because...?”

“I wanted you to know I could do it. So you'd tell me not to.”

Dean felt satisfied. “Quit it,” he said cheerfully.

Cas slumped in relief. “Thank you.”

Dean hooked his fans to his obi, and strolled over. He bent to kiss Castiel's forehead. “See you tonight, beautiful.”

“I look forward to it,” Cas kind of whispered.

Dean went to Crowley's room to see if his dad was there. He was. Crowley let him in with a smile.

“Someone is in a good mood.” The tailor said.

“Cas feels better,” Dean explained. He looked over at his father. “Dad? Cas won't let me onto the grounds without you and Sam.”

John nodded. “Just what I'd expect of your alpha,” he commented with approval. “Well, I was going to go out and catch my own supper at the lake. Would you like to do that?”

Dean grinned. “Sure, Dad. Just let me cut my pole.”

Crowley laughed, knowing the joke, and gave Dean a roll of hempen twine.

 

(________________________________________________________________________)

 

Sam smelled of many things, standing there with John while Dean cut his 'pole'. Pleasure at being outdoors, irritation with John, fondness toward Dean, and the scent of alpha pride. Dean thought that last one was due to being his big brother's keeper, and grinned as he used John's wickedly sharp knife to sever the bamboo.

Both of Dean's guardians had bows and full quivers. And, Dean wasn't positive, but he thought he'd seen a gun like Bobby's inside the lining of John's coat.

“Why'd we bring a pan out here?” Sam asked. “That's like cursing yourself to not catch anything.”

“Oh, Sam,” Dean said, patting Sam's hard, bulging shoulder. “Built like one of my husband's horses, but are you as smart?”

“Hey!” Sam gave him a rude finger gesture while smiling in delight at the dig.

“Dad, can you get us a fire going?” Dean asked. “Doesn't have to be very big.”

“Sure, son,” John said amiably. “Sam, keep your eyes peeled while I do this.”

“You're not gonna catch anything,” Sam told Dean while he stood there like knight protecting a maiden.

Which, he totally was, actually. It was so familiar and perfect of Sam that Dean could almost feel his favorite doll, Polly Patchit, in his arm, warm, and smelling of the cloves his mother had sewn into her head so she'd smell good.

“I married into a fisherman clan, Sammy. I know what I'm doing.” Dean sat to make his spear. “It would be a poor showing if Cas didn't have an awesome, fisherman husband.”

In the next few minutes, Dean could _feel_ Sam's eyes going from their surroundings, to the activity of spear making. Flicking back and forth quickly.

John built the fire, using a magnifying lens and tender box to get the small blaze going.

“Huh,” John said as Dean was finishing up. “I see what you're doing, there. Smart.”

Dean just smiled as he fire-hardened the prongs. He tied twine to his wrist, measured out a great length of it, and affixed it to his spear. Being able to reel in the spear if you didn't hit was very handy.

“Dad, he's seriously not catching anything. That's gonna wobble in flight,” Sam said.

John lifted an eyebrow. “Okay, this is me, thankful you're talking to me again, but this is also me, telling you, that if Dean's fished this way for a long time, he's good at it. Don't underestimate the primitive tools.”

“But, just look at how bendy and lop-sided it is!” Sam said, pointing.

Dean went to the lake, and waded in. He felt like showing off. This was spring, the perfect time to show off what he could do. He chose a mostly flat stone, readied his spear, and went still. Oh, yes. The carp were active. Very active. Only a little surface irritation would get them jumping.

Dean skipped the stone with his 'off' hand, and a large carp leaped from the water.

Dean nailed it.

Grinning, Dean drew his spear back in.

“Holy crap!” Sam shouted as John laughed heartily.

“Come with me, and I will make you fishers of men,” John called out, sounding as if he quoted.

Dean pulled the fish free, and dropped it onto the sand. “There's one.” He picked up another rock

“I call 'fluke',” Sam said. “No _way_!”

Dean caught seven carp, one after the other, no misses, before Sam wore any face other than his you-are-so-awesome-of-a-big-brother face. Dean hadn't seen it in so long, and though it saddened him to know so much time had been taken from them, he also felt strong. Proud. Proud that the things done to him hadn't ruined him.

Proud that he'd not become someone his idealistic little brother couldn't respect.

It would have been so _easy_ to let the bitterness slide over, and suffocate his heart.

“Dean, that was-!” Sam waved his arms in the air, going speechless. “Why are you so good at this?”

“I fished to feed myself, and other kids,” Dean said. “Sonny was so grateful when I brought fish in. He was on a limited budget, right?”

“You didn't write you were using a spear!” Sam shouted.

“Eh, I was a kid. I wasn't a good letter writer, anyway.” Dean sat to show John how these fish had to be cleaned, feeling and smelling John's guilt. “Dad, these things are great if you learn how to bone them right. They don't taste strong, though. I should have brought butter and rosemary.”

John sighed. He knew perfectly well Dean was trying to distract him from his feelings. “Show me how, son,” he said quietly. “Sam can keep watch.”

So, Dean showed him. He got fresh sassafras leaves to lay down for a plate, and began. About halfway through the tutorial, Dean glanced up into his father's eyes, and saw them burning with the intensity of his respect.

Dean had John Winchester's respect.

For catching and cleaning fish.

It aligned in Dean that hunting was considered an alpha pastime. John had sometimes been very late bringing meat home in the evening, because hunting actually wasn't good where they lived. But, rarely had he come home with nothing. He'd busted his ass to feed his wife and kids.

“You are every bit your mother,” John said quietly. “Fierce and strong, clever and stubborn. She could kill a werewolf by herself with only a knife. Track it, follow it even when afraid, and take it out. Because, your mother wanted every child in the world safe from _filth_.” John's eyes filled with pain, remembered and fresh. “I didn't support her faith, Dean,” he confessed. “And, we had no Bible. But, she remembered what her parents taught her. And, she tried to _save_ me. She tried until she drew her last breath.”

Sam, above them, made a sound of pure pain.

Dean leaned until his father's forehead was against his own. “Dad,” he whispered. “She's gonna chew you up.”

John smiled. A tear dropped free of him, moved by a heavy eyelid. “I hope so,” he confessed.

 

(_______________________________________________________________________)

 

“You and Dad have the same religion, huh?” Sam asked. They'd been peacefully eating a starter course of salad and soup for five minutes with no talking. “He's... He's different.” Sam frowned thoughtfully. “He wouldn't have just let me beat the stuffing out of him, last year.”

“He did an alpha-down for you, Sammy,” Dean said carefully. “Showing you he thinks your judgment is better than his own.”

Sam frowned again. “I just can't trust it, Dean.”

“Yeah, I can't even imagine what it was like with the front row seat to his progressive decay.” Dean ate a bite of spinach salad tossed with sugared cranberries and cashews. “No, I really can't. You must toss and turn in bed with nightmares.”

Sam threaded his fingers through his hair and bowed over his setting, eyes closing. “Dean... It was _so_ bad. He stopped hunting. I had to do the garden work, and I was too young for it. I just didn't have enough time with Mom...”

“Shit,” Dean whispered. “How did you make it?”

“I could still gather,” Sam said. His voice was rough now, low, and nearly dull as he remembered his pain. “A woman moved in five miles from our land, and she knew her stuff about providing. She fed me a lot. Gave me food to take home to him. And, drunk and sorrowing as he was, Dad managed to eat every so often.” Sam picked up his fork again. “It was like I didn't exist. Dad just wasn't 'in there'.”

Dean nodded his understanding. “At least you presented as an alpha. Didn't that get you any slack?”

Sam let his head drop back. He stared at the ceiling. “Only in the fact he didn't have to haul me off. I remembered what happened to you, and he explained it away as you turning dark-side, went into great lengths to turn me into a hunter.”

“I get it.” Dean finished his salad quietly, taking a long five minutes to do so in the weighted quiet. “So, you know how to hunt monsters, too?”

“Yeah. At least until the point I lied to the recruiters to get away from the house that was more of a tomb than anything else.” Sam finished his salad, and moved on to inhaling his soup. “Damn, Dean. I'd have rather turned omega. He'd have dragged me off to be with you.”

“Don't you say that, don't you _ever_ say that,” Dean said, pointing at Sam with his fork. “Our childhood mostly sucked, but you developed into someone _admirable_. I look at you, and all I see is greatness. You're strong, smart, and brave. That's all on _you_ , Sam.”

Sam turned his head, looking at Dean with watering eyes. “That means a lot.”

“Damn right it does.” Dean grabbed the course bell, and rang it. “I hope you like beef, because I asked Ellen to make Mom's winter rolls for us. Mom usually had rabbit for their stuffing, but the cow works even better.”

Sam looked at Dean with such gratitude and hope that Dean's heart gave two extras beats. “You have perfect memory. You have Mom's recipes in your head.”

“I do,” Dean said. “I've turned the whole estate on to Mom's meat rolls, even to one or two of her soups. I worked in the kitchen for awhile just to get on steady ground, and Cas was perfectly okay with that. He bought me to comply with his parent's crap. Cas was happy being single.”

“That guy?” Sam laughed a little. “Dean, I'm a straight shooter, and even I can see the appeal in your mate. He's handsome.” Sam licked his spoon, like a child. “Somebody would have snatched him eventually. Lucky you.”

Dean smiled, and if he looked a little smug, Sam kindly did not comment upon it.

“So, I get the idea you've been all over the world,” Dean said.

“What's left of it,” Sam replied. “This continent's a watery mess, mostly. Lots of fallen down buildings, rubble... Your husband's family owns a lot of it, too. Probably more than you think.” Sam looked around the room as he got a graphite stick from his pants pocket. “Any paper?”

Dean tossed him his clean napkin.

“Dean, that's linen,” Sam complained.

“Make it a good drawing, then,” Dean said, smiling. “I'll embroider it on there.”

“You will?” Sam cocked his head.

“Sure. You can call it your hanky.”

Sam smiled, and began drawing, food forgotten.

The servants came in to clear and reset.

Dean just watched his brother. The way his tongue poked out as he drew, that was a childhood trait. That little frown was new. The angle of his head, though, that was also familiar. Dean's little brother, inside an enormous body. The bright, earnest, protective boy, turned into a man. A soldier.

Dean needed to watch Sam when he trained with his men.

Sam got up and walked his chair over, sitting beside Dean. He showed him the napkin by dropping it onto the table, then leaned over to grab his new plate. He had arms long enough to knock someone out from across a room. “I haven't eaten these in you-know-how-long,” he said, breathing in the fragrant steam. And, when he took his first bite, he groaned. “Oh, Dean, almost exactly like Mom's! The beef makes it better!”

Dean smiled as Sam set out to devour his food. He had a look at the napkin. Sam was a very, very good artist. Dean could tell he was looking at continents, and, water. But, he didn't know the Long-Character names, except for Panomu.

“Name these as I point,” Dean said, tapping the napkin. He touched one written east of Panomu, in the water.

“Tolric Seas,” Sam said. “The Tolric nations are peaceful, agrarian, and neutral.”

Dean pointed again, this time to the large continent above Panomu. It had a tiny, tiny land bridge, very fragile looking.

“Rocky White,” Sam said after swallowing a big bite. “They think we're insane for fighting the Maholak. No decent soldiers or fighters, except for the old police force descendants. Those guys are so hard-core. You don't fuck with them. Seriously.”

Sam named each of the seas, one by one. He ate all on his plate, and two of Dean's meat rolls. When the next course came, Sam eagerly sat up straight, and waited for the clearing and resetting. “You eat like this all the time, Dean?” He asked, smiling at Felicity and Kara.

Dean winked at Kara. She blushed and smiled while tending to her business. She'd heard the hunger in Sam's voice, seen Dean showing her she wasn't the only one obsessed with food.

“We eat,” Dean said. “Cas has everything running smooth for vegetables and meat, even fruit. You wanna stay, stay. My husband likes family to be in one place, and he doesn't want people hungry, or poorly clothed.” Dean eyeballed Sam's clean, frayed clothing demonstratively. “Pay a visit to Crowley, and get some new duds. Boots re-soled might need to go through a real dick named Glasser.”

Sam's mouth pressed together, then evened out as humor was displayed and set aside. “I've talked to Crowley a little,” he admitted. “He hates that Glasser guy. What the hell happened?”

“Oh, fucking textile war,” Dean said. “Glasser thought Crowley was stitching wrong. Crowley thought Glasser was a pot-stirrer. It was stressful, Sammy.” Dean had his very first bite of meat roll, chewed and swallowed. Ellen had followed Mary's recipe very well. “This whole fracas of town alphas against Cas and the Novaks came about about because Cas and his household were trying to keep the poor people from dying. You know, food and clothes?”

Sam's eyes went hard and flinty. Dark. His shoulders drew back and shifted square. He went bolt upright in his chair. “Are you fucking telling me that this whole neighbor skirmish is because your mate was giving food and clothing to poor people?” He asked.

“Yeah, pecking order bullshit,” Dean answered. “As long as the poor folk were kept poor, in need, then the low quality alphas had perfect control. Here I came, with Crowley, and suddenly the Novaks were able to provide a lot more to those in need. We weakened the control the bad alphas had on the destitute.”

Sam bent over his plate, threaded his fingers into his hair, and pulled. His lips, drawn back, assumed a semblance of pure hate. “Goddamn it, Dean,” he spewed. “Same as most everywhere. Except, your husband and his family takes a stand. Novaks _always_ take a stand.”

Dean felt surprised. Sam might have a better grasp on his adopted family than he did himself.

“I was shocked,” Sam went on, heedless of his words or Dean's limited viewpoint. “Captain Finnes dropped a letter in my hand, his big brown eyes as vast as the ocean, and ordered me back to barracks. I went there, opened up the letter...”

Sam's eyebrows screwed up with pain. His eyes shut. “Oh my God, Dean. When that letter came to me...” Sam hunched over, his broad, strong shoulders sagging. “It was like a thunder-strike. I read your words...” Sam stopped to give a sob of agony. “All of creation stabbed me. I saw Dad had lied. He _lied_!”

Dean bowed his head. He wound a hand through Sam's flimsy shirt sleeve, and clenched down.

“Well, I'd already gotten the idea I was going to be sent packing,” Sam went on. “Your letter, and Castiel's attention to the matter, pretty much put the last nail into my career coffin. No one denies a Novak. Especially when Novak money funds the war, mostly.”

“My alpha is pretty important to a lot of people,” Dean summed up.

Sam looked at him sideways, smiling a little. “You don't have any idea, do you?”

“No,” Dean admitted. “I only know how important he is to me.” He pointed to the napkin. “Why draw this?”

“To show you Panomu's closest neighbors are not helping us fight,” Sam explained. “Also, I wanted you to have a bigger picture of our world. I can draw you a real map, later.”

Dean stared at Sam, food forgotten. His little brother, so accustomed to poverty that he thought Dean needed a hand drawn map. Dean could ask Cas for a professional one, and he'd get it pretty fast, but this...? Dean swallowed against a lump in his throat. “That would be the best gift, ever,” he said, meaning every word. “Crowley has paper and supplies. Any time you feel like, it Sammy.”

“Great.” Sam, unaware of how he'd affected Dean, just grinned and kept eating.

Dean thought his little brother might teach him a thing or two about being hungry and poor. Dean had the assurance of one meal a day at Sonny's, but Sam had only the charity of a single neighbor. How many times had his chivalrous brother gone to bed at night with his belly caved in?

No wonder Sam felt so much resentment to their father.

“See,” Sam said as he wiped out the last of the third course, “Novak is the most important name you can have in Panomu, outside of government. None of them are poor, Dean. They take care of each other, and provide assistance to the small numbers our gov has for fighting the Maholak.” Sam downed the rest of his wine, and cast a glance at the faraway door as if hoping people would be bringing in more food.

Dean's heart hurt.

“Out of one hundred men, a Novak name is sponsoring at least eighty of them for the war,” Sam went still, staring at the door. “If they wanted to, the Novaks could declare themselves king and country.”

“Right.” Dean picked up the serving bell, and rang it a few times. “Forgive my ignorance, but why are the Maholak fighting us in the first place?”

Sam turned to give Dean a sorrowing look. “So sequestered you don't know?”

Dean shrugged. “My contributions to society weren't very... manly,” he answered carefully.

Sam scowled. “You're more 'man' than a lot of men I served with,” he protested. Then, he exhaled through his nose loudly. “Dean, it's about _your_ kind of people, actually,” he said. “The Maholak only respect alphas. No betas, and, certainly not omegas. Our government, flawed as it is, allows for civil rights. There are omega empowerment movements scattered all over Panomu. Change is slow, of course, but Confederate Panomu is about self-expression, and human dignity.”

Dean let that absorb while Sam's eyes begged for understanding. “You mean, omega rights are being argued for, here, but the Maholak want to keep my people down. Keep us as slaves and breeders,” he surmised, feeling anger stirring in his blood. A slow, steady heating of justice and wrath building up.

Felicity came in by herself, then, responding to the bell. “Sir?” She asked.

Dean set aside his anger. “Did Ellen and Kara have any food left over before the dessert course?”

Felicity bowed before nodding. “As it please you, sir, there is an abundance of a certain casserole dish made for the house. It wasn't served to you, as it is plain fare.” She paused, her eyes sliding to Sam for a moment. “Shall I bring it, sir?”

She intuited what concerned Dean.

The servants, or at least Felicity, had paid enough attention to the dynamics to know Dean's brother was hungry.

Dean felt deeply ashamed for not seeing this himself.

“Please, Felicity,” Dean answered with effort. “And, afterward, have Meg assign someone to what duties you have left for the evening. I want you to eat a good meal, go to bed, and sleep as long as you wish tonight. You tell Meg you are off duty the next two days. Also, request that I receive a duty roster for the staff. Is it by the day, or by the week?”

Smiling bashfully, Felicity curtsied. “It is by the week,” she answered. “Butler Masters rotates us often so that we do not feel overworked, and to comply with your edict about duty flexibility. Still, we sometimes do feel overworked. I expect everyone does.”

“I can imagine, serving this house,” Dean said. “You do good work, Felicity. I want you, Charlie, Peri, Alisha, and Gretta, to all get those two days off. Understand?”

“I do, sir,” she vowed, smiling again.

“Good.” Dean smiled back. “Send the leftovers in, and consider yourself free for awhile.”

Felicity, casting a shy look at Dean before bowing, quickly left the room.

“Wow,” Sam said at almost a whisper. “You handle your people well.” He picked at the crumbs left from the last course, getting every last scrap. In a bare twenty seconds, his plate and bowl looked clean enough to serve anyone else. “Nice to see money being used the right way.”

Dean teetered in his mind, his alignment, and, his sense of fairness. “Money, the love of it, is disgusting,” he declared. “People are what matters. I think so, Cas thinks so, and, his parents are determined to enforce it.” He pushed his half full wine glass over toward Sam. “Drain that for me. I want water for the rest of our meal.” The extra calories would be good for Sam.

Sam readily obeyed. He set the glass down, and smiled at it. “The wine here is amazing,” he praised.

“A very old recipe from a people dedicated to my husband's faith,” Dean informed. Every time he said 'my husband', Dean felt a pulse of pride and loyalty. That he'd gained a spouse, a _mate_ , caused a deep, resonating richness within.

“Whatever,” Sam said in a very content tone. “It tastes good.”

“I'm glad you like it.”

Dean suffered and enjoyed another fifty minutes of his meal with Sam, his mind swirling with ideas of how to nurture his brother. Then, he excused himself, and went to his bedroom.

 

(__________________________________________________________________)

 

“Dean?”

Dean opened his eyes to see Charlie hanging over him.

“Dean,” Charlie said, her kind and intelligent eyes sparking. “The senior Master Novak, and Bill, with the help of your father, your brother, and Jo, intercepted an alpha contingent.” She drew back to let Dean get his post-sleep reason. “We've got eight of the scum, probably Julian Wexley's men. Master Novak is on his way to deal with them, and he asked me to take you to Crowley.”

Dean rolled from bed, saw that his husband's left dresser drawer was slightly ajar, and decided that meant Cas had dressed for the outdoors. “They have them outside of the manor, don't they?” Dean asked, stripping off his sleep trousers. He needed sensible clothing, in case they had to move quickly.

Charlie dug around in Dean's side of the dresser, coming up with a pair of black silk trousers for him. “Yes, they're chained to the farrier posts,” she admitted. “We might be able to watch what happens from fussy old Crowley's windows.” She next produced from the drawer a heavier weight pair of pants. “Layer your clothes. It's still chilly, and we might possibly go from place to place.”

“Were the alphas heavily armed?” Dean asked, obeying her intent.

“Bristling,” she said, her mouth drawing into a grim line afterward. “I caught a glimpse of the weapon pile. And, they look like they walked in from very far away.” She picked around in Castiel's top drawer, and got an undershirt. “Wear that under the pretty black jacquard shirt Crowley made for you. Choose a dark kimono to put on over all of this, and for goodness sake, Dean, put on a pair of your alpha's boots!”

Dean followed orders quickly. “What do you know that I don't?” He asked.

Charlie's face crumpled. “Dean, I've been through something like this before,” she confessed. “Everyone here thinks I had a nice little middle class family, but I haven't. I can't go into it, okay?” She combed Dean's hair while he struggled to belt his obi. “Just... This feels _wrong_. I don't know how else to explain it.”

Dean watched, surprised, as Charlie picked up a saber that was propped against the wall. She strapped it onto herself with the ease of someone who knew their weapon. “Get your fans, and your bow,” she urged. “Whistle for your pets.”

Dean snapped his fans into place, and went for the bow and quiver. His quick whistle brought Ruto and Sphinx to his side. “You didn't take my fan lessons because you already knew a weapon,” he said, coming back to her. “And, whatever your past was, Cas knows. He trusts you with my safety.”

“I think it's more about putting two, strong omegas, together,” Charlie corrected. “Hurry.”

They glided down the hall, swift and silent. Crowley was waiting, door open. As Dean went in, he spied Naomi sitting in the far corner, her arm around Ellen, who was holding Sky close.

Dean looked at all their faces, one by one. He'd never seen Naomi like this. Determined, protective, and stern. Ellen, by contrast, held Sky as if the child might be ripped from her arms. Crowley, so usually full of sass, had death in his eyes.

A cold chill went down Dean's spine. Quietly, he paced to the window to look down onto the grounds. His family, his husband, stood with a large number of Sam's hand-trained soldiers. They surrounded eight alphas, who were chained securely. Even from this high up, Dean could hear the snarling and shouting of these men.

“Here.” Crowley handed Dean an opera glass.

Dean put the glass to one eye, and refocused. The alphas were _feral_. Red in their faces, fighting their bonds, and completely mindless. They had no awareness of anything but being contained and confronted by other alphas. They even puffed up and snapped their teeth at each other. They had blackness oozing from their eyes, even dripped it or slung it when thrashing.

“What the hell?” Dean whispered.

Crowley took his viewing glass back. “They're bespelled,” he said. “Dark witchcraft. My mother fancied that particular curse. 'Mad Dog', she called it. Now, my mother is long dead, but anyone in her coven would know the words to say.”

“Don and Maggie Stark,” Dean said. “Oh, no.”

Crowley nodded shortly. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend. You ever hear that?” He smiled without humor. “I suspect Wexley made a bargain.”

Dean's heart dropped into his borrowed boots. He whirled, and met Naomi's eyes. “Samandriel,” he croaked. “He's in town, Naomi. What if the Starks target him, too?”

Naomi nodded. “I know, Dean. But, what can we do? We can't leave our people unprotected. Samandriel has enough sense to avoid his old servants, I believe. And, I sent five of my old guards, Sam's men, to the cathedral.” She pulled Ellen closer, as if to reassure her. “But, magic is difficult to fight. We would have surely suffered losses this morning if Crowley's protective wards hadn't alerted him to danger.” She pointed with her chin, her eyes large and dark.

Dean turned where directed. Crowley's mock-up of the manor and grounds met his eyes. His mouth dropped open upon seeing his family's dolls standing upright _by themselves_ , confronting shadowy, human shaped wisps of black. It was the creepiest thing he'd ever seen. Even as he watched, the 'John' doll moved forward, and not like it was made of straw and cloth. No, it moved like a person would. It even had John's body language. It's little arm came out as if pointing.

“Your father just pulled a gun,” Charlie said, peering out the window.

A shot rang out, making Dean jerk. It was so _loud_. One of the shadows on the mock-up vanished. The shots continued, then, and Dean watched in fascinated horror as all of the shadows faded.

“Most merciful death he could deal,” Crowley muttered. “I expect John made head shots.”

Dean watched the 'Bobby' doll approach the group. It got only so far before dropping over. Before Dean could even worry, Crowley shook his head. “It's spelled to show movement when the wards are breached, and to stop doing so when the threat is removed. Bobby's fine, Dean.”

“This can't continue,” Ellen said. “We can't live under siege like this.” She rocked Sky back and forth to soothe her, as the loud gun shots had awakened her full of fear. “What will we do, Madam Naomi?”

Naomi gave a short sigh. “Castiel has his own council of alphas, dear,” she answered. “We women and omegas will follow their directives. Unless, of course, they are obviously flawed.”

“The more you own, the harder it is to protect it,” Charlie said. “Why not offer to give some of your renters the land their homes sit on? It would ease resentment.”

“You speak of people like the Carringtons,” Naomi said. “I understand you have a romantic relationship with one of their domestics.”

Charlie shook her head. “Not anymore. Ruby broke off with me because of her loyalty to her masters. And, they don't openly side with Wexley, but they have no love for the Novaks, either.”

“I'm sorry, “ Dean said to Charlie.

Charlie shrugged. “It wasn't working out, anyway. I twice caught her with someone else.”

Well, Crowley had called that one, Dean thought.

“It's a nice thought, giving them land,” Naomi said gently. “But, Charlie, it won't help. The Carringtons, and many others like them, seek reasons to resent or even hate Novaks. And, it isn't as if we drain their resources by charging rent, either. We take nearly _anything_ for payment, if funds are unavailable. And, if the family has hardships, we waive the fees until people are back on their feet.”

Charlie's eyes narrowed. “Are you telling me, Madam Novak, that you aren't charging high fees?”

Naomi nodded.

Charlie ground her teeth together. “Ruby told me the house was nearly caving under the amount of rent debt!”

Dean took his attention to the window, reluctantly. Bobby and Bill, even John, were throwing bodies into a cart. “My dad, turned into an executioner for my sake,” he whispered.

“There's no way to lift that spell,” Crowley informed. “And, eventually, it kills you anyway. He was being compassionate.”

Dean understood that, intellectually. He did. But, he knew his father would carry the weight of those alphas until he died. Because, as a small child, John had lectured him about the sanctity of human life.

“ _I don't care what you believe or don't believe, Dean, because it doesn't matter. People have to stick together and work their problems out. Never kill a man unless you have no other choice, and always protect the weak. Look out for your neighbor's wife, and his kids.”_

Dean could see the intensity in his father's face, the fact that he meant every word he spoke.

No. Dean would never forget that lecture. But, he wondered what prompted it in the first place. And, all of it had been thrown into the trash, in a way, after Dean presented as an omega.

Crowley's door opened, and Cas came in. Dean took one look at his face, and his heart fell. Cas was worried.

“Crowley. A word?” Cas asked quietly, his eyes only on the tailor.

Dean eased back toward Naomi and Ellen, and waited. Naomi took his hand, and he held onto her, grateful she would offer alpha comfort, not feeling at all as if he was being patronized. He watched Crowley and Cas' faces, seeing urgency, even fear. They spoke very quietly, and Dean caught not one word of their conversation.

The door opened again, and Dean was shocked to see Charles and Joshua standing there in the threshold together. A beat of stunned silence by all parties, then the two joined the covert conversation. Charles held a stack of vellum out to Castiel, and Castiel, his face like a stone, took it. And, he began reading the pages with Crowley spying them from the side.

Suddenly, Cas' spine stiffened. His hands shook. He looked to Charles in a way Dean had never seen a man look. The scent of his distress made the air thick with nameless dread. Even worse, Crowley bent over with a hand covering his eyes.

“Get Sam,” Castiel ordered, and Crowley quickly left the room.

“I feel as if I'm poised to go over a chasm,” Naomi whispered. “What could have my son in such a state?”

Dean squeezed her hand. He had little else to offer but human contact.

Crowley returned with Sam, and Dean watched as Cas spoke to him. His brother began breathing hard, his chest heaving. Tears formed at the corners of his eyes, glistening, but not falling. His enormous hands clenched into fists, and he began to shake like an epileptic.

“Oh, my God,” Ellen whispered brokenly. “What has happened?”

Cas heard her. Wearily, he turned to address the room. “The Maholak have taken Panomu,” he announced. “Our soldiers are disbanded, or fleeing. Governor Uriel is dead.”

 

(____________________________________________________)

 

“Where are we going?” Dean asked quietly. He had Charlie on one side, Jo on the other, and no one had spoken for an hour. The carriage felt stifling. Sphinx and Ruto barely had any room to move, being in the floorboards.

“We're headed to Rocky White,” Jo answered shortly.

“Master Novak got his architect's papers there, as well as his art degree,” Charlie added, sounding subdued. “He has a legal right to return to his old lodgings. Meg has been paying the property taxes for him, keeping it maintained. I guess she wanted a fall-back plan. Good thing she did.”

“It won't be like Tor-Valen,” Jo said harshly. “It won't be like _home_.”

“Home is where you make it,” Charlie shot back, heat in her tone. “I know you loved it, Jo. I do. I fully understand how much. You're leaving _land_ , not four walls and a roof. But, put on your armor and get to swinging. Master Novak is counting on you.”

“I know he is,” Jo counter-struck, leaning over Dean to glare at Charlie. “You don't have to remind me of my duty, ginger!”

“Why, you tow-headed little alpha-!”

Dean brought up a fan, unfurling it so they couldn't look at each other. “Both of you, stop,” he ordered. “Charlie, you're right. Jo, you're right, too. Stop venting your spleens on each other. If Cas has to stop this caravan because of our carriage, we'll _all_ die of mortification.” He closed the fan, and glared at them both individually. “He put you in my carriage for a good damn reason. Be proud of that.”

Jo scoffed, but resumed a normal stance on the seat. “You don't need us, Dean,” she said. “I'd take you and your fans over Bobby and his gun any day of the week.”

“Are you going into the female equivalent of rut, or something?” Charlie asked. And, she was snotty about it.

“You'd better hope not, Miss Thing, because I swing your way,” Jo muttered.

Ruto turned his head and growled at both of them, and blessed silence fell. Dean patted his head.

Things were going to be different, now. Dean could only hope for the best.

 

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Tor Valen Gets a New Addition](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5697931) by [Dat_moose_girl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dat_moose_girl/pseuds/Dat_moose_girl)




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